


fated, faithful, fatal

by scoups_ahoy



Series: thorns on the rose [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Angst, Blood, Bottom Yoon Jeonghan, Character Death, Dom/sub Undertones, Heavy Angst, Infidelity, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups, Toxic Relationships, Unhealthy Relationships, also unrequited sc/oc, honestly this is really dark, listen sc is a hoe and he gets around, there wasn't supposed to be so much biblical symbolism but ??? here we are, unrequited woncheol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoups_ahoy/pseuds/scoups_ahoy
Summary: Infidelity bred impurity; impurity bred sin; and sin bred affliction.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Series: thorns on the rose [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067801
Comments: 22
Kudos: 122





	fated, faithful, fatal

**Author's Note:**

> hellooo :)
> 
> thank you to all my twt mutuals for their support and help, but an especially great big amazing super thank you to [wonshushushu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonshushushu/pseuds/wonshushushu). i could not have written this without you! <3
> 
> this is an expansion of my september snapshots challenge entry; you don't need to read that first because the entry itself will be in this work.
> 
> please heed the tags and the following warnings.
> 
> tw: toxic/unhealthy relationships, rough sex with elements of dubcon/demeaning language used without consent, depictions of blood and violence, murder/death, suicidal thoughts, brief/implied drug use, mental health issues, character death, brief slut shaming.
> 
> i chose not to use archive warnings for a reason; i felt it would ruin the ending if i didn't. however if you feel i need to tag something specific, please let me know.
> 
> this fic is dark and long. it was hard for me to write it, so please remember to take a break if you need to. drink some water, play with a pet, watch funny videos, read fluff... click away if you need to. it's okay.
> 
> enjoy, as much as you can <3

**fated, faithful, fatal.**

Perdition is near capacity tonight, the air warm and smoky and full of promise as Korea’s wealthiest and most powerful pack themselves in. They join each other on the dance floor; idols, escorts, politicians, drug runners, CEOs, and arms dealers alike. Equal for once in their lust and depravity, equal in the secrets they share, they put their trust in each other’s sins and hope that that will be enough to deliver them from their own. 

It never is, but Seungcheol lets them think otherwise. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have a clientele. 

The sea of bodies parts for him as he moves between them, giving him smiles or raising their drinks in greeting. Pressed up against each other, bathed in red light that hides their dilated pupils well. It’s certainly a sight to see, one that never fails to bring a smile to Seungcheol’s lips. Some of the most influential people in Southeast Asia raise their glasses to _him,_ a glorified gangster, and they know it. They know who he is and he has enough dirt on every single one of them to bring them to their knees. 

The power he holds will go to his head one day if he’s not careful. But that’s the thing - he’s _definitely_ careful. He’s learned his lessons from the ones who came before, the ones who had everything and lost it all in a single move. 

No, Seungcheol’s not stupid. He knows how to run a goddamn crime syndicate. 

The greetings follow him all the way to his booth in the back and then he’s left by himself. Well, not fully. Wonwoo sits beside him, on his right, where he always is. Stoic and quiet enough that sometimes Seungcheol _feels_ alone. Haunted, at best, by a silent ghost. 

He doesn’t like being here, Seungcheol knows. It’s too loud; crowded; smoky. Not that he can really blame Wonwoo; a few years ago, Seungcheol would’ve agreed that this place is too much. Would’ve preferred a quiet night in his office, or even at home, over this. But now he can’t get enough of it. _Thrives_ on it. Here, he is his most powerful. Every soul in this club belongs to him in a way he can never have once they leave its walls. Outside of Perdition, they find it easier to rebuke him, ignore him. Once they return to their normal, proper lives, he is but a parasite to them; a parasite that clings to their corruption and feeds off of it. He is a scourge that threatens their flimsy, spurious morals and their precious families. 

Outside of his realm, they act as if they have any modicum of power over him. 

Here, they know they do not. 

It’s heady, thrilling in a way that’s better than sex. 

Wonwoo doesn’t understand it. Can’t. 

“Are we meeting someone here tonight, sir?” he asks quietly. They’re far away enough from any speakers that he doesn’t have to shout to make himself heard. Hence the beauty of this particular table. Business can be conducted away from prying ears. “Or is this visit more about… pleasure?” 

Seungcheol smirks at the hesitation in his voice, the judgment tightening his tone. “Maybe we’re just here for the ambience, Wonwoo,” he says, catching Soonyoung’s attention from behind the bar. “Have a drink or two.” 

Wonwoo sighs heavily, eyes flashing irritably for a moment. “If we’re not here for any particular reason, don’t you think you ought to be… at home, instead? Maybe?” 

Home. Seungcheol snorts, turning away from his second in command to scan the club. “Not at all. In fact, I think-” 

The moment Seungcheol sees him, the breath leaves his body. 

He’s all but glued to Assemblyman Park’s hip, wearing a bored smirk just as well as he wears the thin choker around his neck. A white shirt, unbuttoned enough to show off rather delectable collarbones, rests big and billowy against his slender hips as part of it is tucked into tight black pants. Blond hair tickling his jaw, high cheekbones, perfect bow lips the color of fresh blood - this man is somehow the most dazzling creature in the room. 

Among the fallen idols created to be beacons of beauty by entertainment companies; among strippers and prostitutes whose exquisite looks are their jobs; among the wealthy and powerful that have so much to offer - this man captures Seungcheol’s attention, wholly and singularly. 

The lights dance across his honeyed skin, bathing him in a soft crimson that suits him so well. Like the color red was made for him. 

Seungcheol wants to get him alone. 

“Someone catching your eye?” Wonwoo asks, sounding as bored as ever. 

Seungcheol nods and he can’t look away from this man. Not even when Soonyoung stops by to drop off their drinks. The stranger seems so fragile against Assemblyman Park’s big frame, tucked into his side like he is not to be touched by anyone but him. Dressed in white, ethereal features haloed beneath blond hair, he looks like an angel. An angel in Perdition. 

Something inside Seungcheol aches. He _wants._

“Who is that with Assemblyman Park?” he asks Wonwoo, entranced as the man dances long, elegant fingers across his companion’s clothed chest. 

He feels them against his own body, a phantom burning that hardly satisfies. 

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo says, a frown in his voice. “You’ve met Chairman Kim before-” 

“Not him,” and Seungcheol doesn’t even try to mask his scoff. “No, the man he’s undressing with his eyes. The blond.” 

“Oh.” Wonwoo sighs once more, sounding so tired. “That’s his aide. Yoon Jeonghan, if memory serves.” 

The man - Jeonghan - shifts so that Park’s hand rests on his ass, letting out a peal of laughter that’s lost to the music as someone says something funny. 

“His _aide?”_ Seungcheol manages and he’s finally able to tear his eyes away; he meets Wonwoo’s bored gaze. “His aide looks like that?” 

He shrugs and the judgment marring his features is hardly subtle. But he doesn’t try hard to dissuade Seungcheol anymore; for all his scrutiny and criticisms, Wonwoo knows there’s no stopping Seungcheol when he wants something. Whether it’s money, arms, territory, or lovers. “Apparently so. Tread carefully, hyung. The assemblyman’s known to have a particular soft spot for his aide.” 

Seungcheol smirks as he stands up, abandoning his untouched glass. Long ago he learned to not question Wonwoo’s seemingly endless cache of information; he has no idea where he gets it from but it’s never been wrong. “Obviously, otherwise his wife would be here instead. Don’t you think?” 

Wonwoo just sighs and leans back against the booth, resigned. 

Once more, Seungcheol treks through the sweaty, writhing bodies to get where he wants to go. But this time his focus is hardly on the people around him; he can’t take his eyes off of Yoon Jeonghan. And apparently he’s not the only one. 

The small crowd Assemblyman Park entertains is just as entranced with his aide as Seungcheol is, eyes dark and lidded as they latch onto every tiny move he makes, decidedly not focused on whatever it is Park drones on about. 

And Yoon Jeonghan drinks it up. 

Flutters his lashes demurely, looks between them all with big, wide eyes that scream innocence - the kind of innocence the men and women watching him love to corrupt. But the way he bites his bottom lip is controlled. The way his tongue peeks out to wet his perfect mouth is teasing. The way his elegant fingers slowly slide down Park’s stomach is wicked. 

Seungcheol is parched, craving just a taste he knows won’t quench. 

That’s exactly the way Yoon Jeonghan wants it, he’s all but certain. 

“Ah, Seungcheol,” Park exclaims a bit too loudly, drugs and alcohol slurring his words together. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” 

He smirks and Yoon Jeonghan meets his gaze with something soft that threatens to rend. “The pleasure is all mine, Assemblyman.” 

The arm he has around Jeonghan tightens, like he knows Seungcheol’s intent. Of course he does; it’s no different from the intent of the people around them, watching Jeonghan with hungry eyes. Seungcheol is merely… more vocal about it. 

He owns the assemblyman, does he not? So what punishment would he face? 

“Join us, won’t you?” Park says, eyes too glossy to really focus on anything in front of him, and Seungcheol wonders if his wife knows he’s here. He wonders how the citizens of Korea would react, if they were to find out that the Speaker of the National Assembly was here at Perdition. Poisoning his body with that night’s drug of choice, red lipstick that belongs to his young aide staining his weathered neck. “We were just discussing - “ 

Yoon Jeonghan whines softly, turning towards the assemblyman with those eyes of his. He is the very picture of naivete, a soft pout to his lips, and Seungcheol wants to make him his. Wants to see what he’d look like in his bed; beautiful face twisted up in wicked pleasure. 

“Hyung,” he murmurs and a soundless chuckle rises up among the spectators. “I’m _bored._ Can I go dance? Please?” 

His voice is everything and nothing Seungcheol imagined it would be; warm and throaty and addictive, it settles in his mind like a parasite. 

He needs _more._

Park sighs heavily and he must know how sought after his lover is. It shows in the hesitation he gives, hesitation that Jeonghan tries to pout away, fingers curling in one of Park’s belt loops. “Fine,” he says finally in a low voice. “But be safe, hmm?” 

Jeonghan kisses him in response, a soft peck before he’s bounding off towards the dance floor. 

None of the bystanders move, not even Seungcheol. But he doesn’t look away from Jeonghan, who sends him a dangerously flirty smirk over his shoulder. 

It makes Seungcheol’s insides swoop hotly. 

“He seems like quite the handful, Park,” one of the men says. “And he’s your aide?” 

Park nods, swaying a bit with nothing to grasp onto. Any and all power he held left with Jeonghan; he seems pathetic now, a balding man in an ill-fitting suit, high on LSD and the touch of a younger, alluring lover far out of his league. “Interned for me during college, stuck around for the campaign. He’s, ah… _talented.”_

Seungcheol rolls his eyes and everything in his body aches to be next to Yoon Jeonghan. “Has Minyoung met him?” 

At the mention of his wife, Park’s eyes harden. He gulps. 

Seungcheol grins, drunk on power and lust and the knowledge that he can do _whatever_ he wants. “You know there are cameras all over this place, right?” 

The implication is enough; Park’s shoulders droop. 

Seungcheol has won. With quick, purposeful steps and a smirk on his lips, he heads towards the dance floor to claim his prize. Yoon Jeonghan has his back to him and his slender body follows the rhythm of the music perfectly; Seungcheol can’t resist. He reaches out and puts his hands on Jeonghan’s hips, pulling him back against him. 

The sweet scent of roses in his perfume reaches Seungcheol’s nose and he melts. Jeonghan is utterly perfect; even though they’re the same height he feels so small and delicate against his body and it ignites something deep inside Seungcheol - the desire to protect, to relinquish control and give Yoon Jeonghan anything and everything he wants. It’s a visceral and potent feeling, one he’s certain the assemblyman is a slave to, and it drives his actions as he squeezes Jeonghan’s slim hips, noses the juncture of his jaw. 

“You are incredible,” he whispers into his ear and the way Jeonghan shivers only adds to the heat building in his body. “Anyone ever tell you that before?” 

He laughs softly, like he’s so damned sure of himself, and it echoes through Seungcheol’s head. “Sure, but no one like you, Choi Seungcheol.” 

His name sounds so good on Jeonghan’s tongue, he wants everyone to hear it. “So you know who I am.” 

“Of course I do.” He presses back against Seungcheol, warm and fragile in his arms. “I’m not just his aide or his fucktoy. He trusts me with everything he wouldn’t tell anyone else.” 

“Is that right?” With bated breath he leans down to mouth at the skin above the choker. He’s slow, gentle, worried that a sudden movement might scare Jeonghan from his grasp. 

Jeonghan merely grips his hands with cold, thin fingers, and they sway to the beat together. It pounds through Seungcheol’s body, just as heady as the desire pooling in his gut. “I know you bought him his election.” 

“I did indeed. Him and eight other assemblymen.” There’s sweat gathering on the back of his neck, at his temples, and the desire to touch Jeonghan’s bare skin sparks its way into a need. He lets go of one of his hips to slide his hand up Jeonghan’s abdomen. The oversized shirt he wears flattens under Seungcheol’s palm; he feels lean muscle and muted heat. And then his fingertips reach _warmth._ He touches Jeonghan’s collarbones like a man in worship, reveling in the way Jeonghan tilts his head back. “Do you have a problem with that?” 

“Hardly.” His muscles twitch and jump under Seungcheol’s fingers, and the control he showed the others slowly melts away as he arches in his grasp. “I’d find it… inspiring to work for a man like you.” 

Seungcheol smirks to himself, and there are so many ways he could take that sentence. But he opts for something more subtle, since he can afford to right now. “A man like me, hmm?” 

He nods as best as he can with Seungcheol’s lips brushing his pulse point and his fingers dancing over his collarbones. “Park doesn’t know what he wants, not really. He - he thinks so small. But you… well, I imagine you’ve got your eyes set on so much more than Park could ever comprehend.” 

“I imagine you’re right.” He can’t take it anymore; it’s not enough to simply tease. He needs _more._ So he turns Jeonghan around and meets burning, half-lidded eyes that seem to sear his very soul. “I want you.” 

Jeonghan laughs softly, a low, beautiful sound. “I know you do. Mm, but I’m taken.” 

Now those eyes of his are shining, like he’s told a joke Seungcheol doesn’t understand. “Are you?” 

He nods, wrapping slender arms around his neck and Seungcheol never wants to let him go. Especially not if it would mean he goes back to Park. “I am, and I imagine the poor assemblyman would throw a fit if you took me home tonight.” 

“I imagine the _poor assemblyman_ doesn’t have much of a choice.” 

Jeonghan smirks as he presses close enough for their breath to mix; Seungcheol could kiss him. Just pull him in a few more centimeters and claim him like that. In the middle of this dance floor, right where Park could see it. “He doesn’t, but I do.” Hands slide down Seungcheol’s neck, his chest, making promises and breaking them in the same moment. “You shouldn’t get everything you want, Seungcheol-ah. Anyone ever tell you that?” 

And just like that, fleeting and ethereal, his words still processing in Seungcheol’s mind, Jeonghan pulls away. He throws a wicked smirk over his shoulder once more, and it vexes Seungcheol as much as it makes him _want._

That night, he goes home to the apartment in the middle of Gangnam. The one Kiyoshi doesn’t know about, but his one-night stands do. And tonight it’s some boy Seungcheol’s seen a couple times at the club. He was there tonight and accidentally - or maybe not - caught Seungcheol’s gaze when Yoon Jeonghan walked away from him. With dark, bored eyes and a handsy chairman (one who owes his company to Seungcheol) hanging off his slender form, he reminded him of Jeonghan. And he looked easy. 

He is. 

All it took was a pointed glance from Seungcheol, who wanted nothing more than to track Jeonghan down and lose himself, and the boy was his. Peeling the drunk chairman from his side he’d willingly molded against Seungcheol’s hip; he’s handsome enough, eager and submissive enough to keep Seungcheol’s attention for at least a few hours. But no longer than that. Never longer than that. 

Their noises mix in the bedroom like a discordant cacophony, sobbing whines and deep grunts clashing above the sounds of skin on skin. Seungcheol is so annoyed with it, holding tight to this boy’s hips as he fucks him into the mattress - and his wedding ring catches the moonlight spilling in through the open window. It glints sharp and silver against the boy’s pale hip, and Seungcheol hates the sight of it. 

But he keeps it on. 

He always does when he fucks like this; it’s a reminder. But a reminder for who, he’s not sure. Never has been. 

The men and women who share his bed for a night see it, and they know their place. They know their worth. They know that Seungcheol remains as untouchable as he always is, promised to someone else even if he breaks that promise every damn day of his life. 

And when Seungcheol sees it, he’s reminded of his sins. He’s reminded of Kiyoshi waiting for him at the penthouse in Apujeong. He’s reminded of the vows he made years ago, vows he truly intended on keeping. 

Seeing this goddamn ring fills him with so many fucking feelings it’ll drive him insane. 

So he takes those feelings out on the body beneath him. Presses the boy into the mattress, trapping him under the weight and strength of transgressions he’s hardly responsible for, and Seungcheol lets go. 

By the time he comes, spilling into the condom with a blurry orgasm he’ll never remember, the boy is bruised and trembling. He makes soft, whining noises as Seungcheol pulls out that maybe a few years ago would’ve tugged at his heartstrings, made him stay and take care of him. But Seungcheol from a few years ago wouldn’t have done this in the first place. 

So he does what he always does: he dresses without a word and leaves the bedroom. 

Wonwoo meets his gaze when he walks into the living room, stoic face unreadable as it always is. And he waits patiently for Seungcheol’s orders, sitting on the couch with his back straight. 

“I’m done with him.” 

Wonwoo tilts his head in recognition and with that, Seungcheol leaves. 

Seungcheol drives home alone. It’s his one moment of solitude, where he’s not expected to be anything or do anything, and he takes advantage of it. This late - or early, depending on your mindset - there’s hardly anyone on the streets. Just the way Seungcheol likes it. Soft light from the streetlamps dotting the sidewalk mixes almost dizzyingly with the neon signs still ablaze as he zips through the open roads. It’s hypnotic in a way that makes him wish he was sleeping. 

But the way home is familiar, etched deep in his muscle memory, and he allows his mind to wander. It fixates almost immediately. 

Yoon Jeonghan. 

As hard as he tries, he can’t get him out of his head. No matter what, it’s futile. 

_“You shouldn’t have everything you want, Seungcheol -ah. Anyone ever tell you that?”_

No one speaks to him like that without punishment. Hell, he’s even _killed_ for less than that. But Yoon Jeonghan had done it. Yoon Jeonghan had looked him in the eye, smiled, and said those words like he had nothing to lose. Walked away so easily, too, as if Seungcheol couldn’t take the breath from his lungs in one move. 

But shit, he’d felt like fucking heaven in Seungcheol’s arms, everything he didn’t know he was missing. The taste of his skin, the scent of his perfume, the warmth of his skin… Seungcheol had never wanted so badly. 

He wouldn’t be driving home now if it was Jeonghan he’d bedded, he knows that. No, he’d be pressing against him beneath the sheets, hands wandering across his skin as if he hadn’t spent what felt like hours touching him. Kissing his neck, licking over the bruises he’d left for the assemblyman to find - Jeonghan had asked for them too, asked to be marked, claimed - 

He’d clean Jeonghan up, doing all the work as Jeonghan just stood under the warm water. He’d lose himself in wicked smirks and sinful kisses and he’d stay all night. 

He’d have Jeonghan over and over again, until their touches grew tired and heavy; until he was shaking and sobbing and begging to stop, and Seungcheol would drag one more orgasm from his beautiful, spent body - _just one more, angel, you’re so good -_

The light turns red and Seungcheol slams on the brakes, wrenching himself from his thoughts. 

A single car drives through the intersection, glittering in the lights, and for a moment he watches it go until it disappears from his line of sight. 

The light turns green. 

Kiyoshi is awake when he steps inside their apartment, sitting on the couch in his white satin robe and matching pajama bottoms. His chest is bared in a way that might’ve tempted Seungcheol a few years ago. 

But not anymore. 

“You don’t have to wait up for me,” he says without preamble, feeling like a fool in his suit and disheveled hair. 

Sighing softly, Kiyoshi stands from the couch. He moves as gracefully as he ever has, tucking his white hair behind his ears. His beautiful features are pulled taut, into a gaze that looks so apathetic it almost hurts. 

Another angel in perdition. 

“You’re my husband,” he says by way of explanation, eyes dull and sad as they meet Seungcheol’s. “I like knowing you come home safe.” 

Seungcheol stands still when Kiyoshi leans in for a kiss. He knows he smells like sex but he smells like sex _every_ night; is it surprising anymore? He stands still when Kiyoshi’s mouth moves to his neck, breath hesitant as he brushes kisses on his skin. He stands still when Kiyoshi cups him through his pants, another sigh escaping his husband’s lips. 

“Touch me, Seungcheol, like you did so long ago,” he whispers against his throat. “I miss you.” 

Here, Seungcheol feels powerless. At home he feels as if he can’t control anything, as if he never wanted his life to be like this. As if he doesn’t belong here. The only thing he can take comfort in is that Kiyoshi feels the exact same way. 

It makes his bones ache. 

“I’m too tired tonight,” he murmurs and it’s not far from the truth; he gently takes Kiyoshi’s hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss it. His ring, jeweled and silver, glints in the soft lamplight. “But soon, I promise.” 

He sighs once more and draws back, looking at Seungcheol with such gentle eyes and he can’t _stand_ it. “Is - is everything okay? You know you can talk to me if you need to…” 

“No I can’t,” he whispers, and he blames the late hour, his shitty orgasm, Yoon Jeonghan settled in his mind so comfortably, like he just belongs there. “Neither can you.” 

Kiyoshi doesn’t follow when he leaves. So he gets ready for bed in peace; washes his face, brushes his teeth, combs his hair. He goes through the motions like he did with that boy; he goes through the motions like he did when he drove here. He goes through the motions like he does when he kisses his husband. 

He’s _numb._

When he steps into the bedroom Kiyoshi is hanging his robe back up, touching the silk with reverent hands. “Did you take your pills?” he asks without looking over his shoulder. 

“Yes,” Seungcheol lies, figuring that what Kiyoshi doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

How _wrong_ he is. They’ve known each other for over a decade; Kiyoshi knows him like the back of his hand. 

“You’re lying.” 

His words sound charged to Seungcheol’s ears, like there’s so much more he’s trying to say, so much more he wants to say. But he won’t, he never does. And neither will Seungcheol. They dance around each other like this, barefoot with glass shards between them. Afraid to step close. 

“I hate the pills, Ki. You know I do.” He undresses with quick, jerky movements that feel too familiar. “I’m not taking them anymore.” 

“You can’t sleep without them though.” 

He sighs and turns towards the bed. Kiyoshi sits on his side, eyes tired. Everything about him seems so tired, all the time, and Seungcheol’s heart hurts. “I sleep fine. Just… I sleep fine, okay?” 

Kiyoshi sets his mouth into a firm line but he says nothing else as he lays down, tugging a couple of the blankets over his body. 

He turns out the lamp on his bedside table. 

Quietly, Seungcheol follows suit. Finally in bed, burrowed under the covers because Kiyoshi likes it cold, he snuggles against his husband. Pulls him close. And Kiyoshi lets him with hands that are softer than he deserves. They don’t speak. They just kiss until Seungcheol can’t take it anymore and he pulls away to bury his face in Kiyoshi’s slender neck. 

He _hates_ how kissing his husband leaves such a bitter taste in his mouth lately. It makes him sick. 

By the time he gets to his office the next morning, his head is already pounding and the day has hardly started. But thankfully he’s left alone as he walks through the building, save for his silent ghost. 

“Wen Junhui called early this morning,” he says once they’re in Seungcheol’s office, door closed. He’s holding onto some pieces of paper that Seungcheol’s certain are important but right now... 

“I don’t care, Wonwoo.” He sighs heavily as he sits in his chair, resisting the urge to break into the bottle of soju he’s got somewhere in this room. “Christ, I feel like shit. And I didn’t even drink last night.” 

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “How much sleep did you get?” 

_“You can’t sleep without them, though.”_

He shuts Kiyoshi’s voice from his mind with a grunt, avoiding Wonwoo’s critical gaze. “Enough. Just…” 

Wonwoo understands. This much, he understands. “Wen Junhui called,” he says again, closing the distance between himself and the desk to give Seungcheol the papers. He doesn’t look at them. “I know you’re tired but this is crucial, hyung. It’s what we’ve been waiting for.” 

“Is it now?” He reaches for the papers and thumbs through them. The text is blurry, bleary, but he catches some familiar words. It sends exhaustion sliding in his body like concrete. “So Yang is finally ready for us, is he?” 

“He wants to meet. Tonight.” 

Seungcheol sets the papers down, opting instead to rub at his face, at the pressure building, throbbing behind his eyes. “All right. Perdition, maybe eleven-ish?” 

“Business this time, hyung,” he says softly and Seungcheol closes his eyes, huffing out a defensive sigh. Leave it to Wonwoo... “Park isn’t thrilled with what you did with his aide - “ 

He remembers Yoon Jeonghan in pieces. Warmth, slender hips, delicate hands. Wicked smirks. Soft breaths as Seungcheol mouthed his trembling pulse. Shining eyes that saw right through him. _“You shouldn’t get everything you want, Seungcheol-ah.”_ His headache pounds above his brow. “I didn’t do anything with him. He certainly made sure of that. Besides, why do I give a fuck what Park thinks? I own him. If it wasn’t for me he wouldn’t even be Speaker of the Assembly - “ 

“Still,” and there’s no arguing with that tone. Seungcheol hates it, always has. Because if there’s one person who has any authority over him it’s Wonwoo and he can’t stand it sometimes. “We can’t afford anything going wrong tonight.” 

“I know.” He cracks open an eye to glare at Wonwoo, as best as he can. He’s given a cold scowl in return, a cold scowl that means business. Wonwoo isn’t backing down. “Jesus, you act like I’m some dumb kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing. I know how important tonight is.” 

“Do you?” His face is set firmly, in a way Seungcheol’s not sure he’s ever seen before. It leaves anxiety thrumming through his body. “We’ve been trying to get Yang’s product for years - “ 

“I’m aware,” Seungcheol snaps as the throbbing moves towards his temple. And just like that, Wonwoo straightens up. His face falls to its emotionless default. Seungcheol still feels jittery. Jumpy. “What’s wrong, Wonwoo? You’re acting weird.” 

He shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.” 

Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh as he looks back at the papers on his desk. He hates fighting with Wonwoo. They don’t do it often but whenever they do… it makes him feel sick. Wonwoo is his second, the person he should trust and treasure most in the world - even above his husband. “Let me know if you’re stressed or need to rest,” he says softly, not registering the bleary text he reads. “I’d hate to lose you for even a day but we have a few who could take your place. Okay?” 

“Yes sir.” 

They fall into silence for a few moments, neither of them looking at the other, and Seungcheol can’t help but wonder why he can’t seem to say the right thing anymore. With Wonwoo, with Yoon Jeonghan, with his husband. Will he be able to get Yang Xinyi on their side tonight? Or is that meeting going to crash and burn the way he’s thinking it will? 

He swallows a groan as his brow throbs to the point of pain, deep as it echoes through his head. “Anything else I should know?” he manages to Wonwoo. 

“Nothing that can’t wait a few hours, sir.” He puts a hand on Seungcheol’s shoulder; it’s warm and soothing. “Go to the apartment, get some rest. You’re better to us out of action for a while than delirious and exhausted tonight, when we’ll need you most. Okay?” 

He has no idea why but sometimes Wonwoo’s particular brand of comfort borders on the condescending side. Maybe it’s just Seungcheol, feeling like he doesn’t deserve it because he should be able to handle this shit. Maybe it’s Wonwoo, thinking the same thing. Or maybe it’s both of them, falling out of touch with each other in that way that feels so similar to Seungcheol. 

Nothing is like it used to be. 

“Okay,” he agrees quietly. 

That night, even though it’s a Sunday, Perdition is as packed as it was the day before. The irony isn’t lost on Seungcheol - more than half of their clientele tonight are practicing Christians and yet they’re here, spending their holy day in a nightclub called Perdition? - and it’s enough to entertain him as he makes his way to the bar. It’s about ten, Yang won’t be here for another hour, which means Seungcheol has time to enjoy himself. Maybe find someone to take home tonight afterwards. 

Soonyoung greets him with a wide smile when he sees him, already pushing his usual drink towards him. The clear liquid sloshes in the glass. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, hyung!” 

“You saw me last night, Soonie,” he says as he reaches for the drink. He takes a swig; straight vodka. Perfect. 

It doesn’t burn as much as it used to, he’s learned. 

“Yeah but you didn’t talk to me.” He ignores some of the customers calling out drink orders and one glance at who he’s talking to makes them understand why. 

Seungcheol bites back a smirk. 

Soonyoung leans in like he has a secret to share, eyes shining in the red lights. “I hear Yang’s coming tonight.” 

“Yes,” Seungcheol says. “So be on your best behavior, hmm? The rest of the bar staff, too. Everything has to go perfectly.” 

“Will do, sir.” 

Suddenly every hair on the back of Seungcheol’s neck seems to stand on edge; he’s highly aware of a presence making itself known beside him. A slender body pushing between the others, rosy perfume that settles in Seungcheol’s nose sharply, like a drug. He wants to reach out and touch, wants to pull Yoon Jeonghan against him so that no one else will even come close to him… but he doesn’t. He just stands in awe he hopes he’s masking well, unable to move as Jeonghan stands before him like a dream he can’t quite grasp. 

He looks as ethereally beautiful tonight as he did yesterday; black and white striped shirt tucked into tight black pants, a thick choker around his neck. His lips are still blood red and Seungcheol wants to taste them. 

He wants but he knows he cannot have. 

“Seungcheol-ah,” Jeonghan says with that wicked smirk of his and Seungcheol can’t help himself; he reaches out and brings Jeonghan close with a hand on his waist. 

Jeonghan lets him, fluttering his lashes innocently. 

“What are you doing here?” he murmurs, forgetting about Soonyoung nearby, forgetting about all the people around them. “I haven’t seen Park…” 

“No, I’m here alone.” He wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s neck and he knows it’s a goddamn act, just to get under his skin, but Seungcheol melts into it. He is drawn to Jeonghan, addicted to him already, foolish as it is. “Since it’s Sunday the assemblyman has chosen tonight to spend with his family. Dinner with the kids, make love to the wife, asleep by ten-thirty.” 

Seungcheol licks his lips and desire thrums in his body as Jeonghan follows the movement. “And what do you usually do on these Sunday nights?” 

He presses closer, tilting his head as he thinks. “Drown myself in work, pass out with my laptop open and phone unlocked around midnight.” A sigh, bored and bold, passes his lips. “Tonight, I wanted something different.” 

Something different. “Does he know you’re here?” 

“No.” His eyes glitter in the red light and Seungcheol needs him. “Is that a problem?” 

“Hardly.” He glances around them, at the eyes that swoop downward in mock innocence when they meet his, and he knows Yang will be here in just under an hour - but something tells him that won’t be enough time to get Yoon Jeonghan where he wants him. “Dance with me, angel.” 

Smirking, Jeonghan leads them to the dance floor and Seungcheol wastes no time pulling him back against his chest. Running his hands along his clothed stomach, fingers dipping towards his hips, breath dusting his neck. With Jeonghan he feels intoxicated even though he’s hardly had any alcohol. With Jeonghan he feels alive, electricity sparking under his skin every time they touch. It’s too much and not enough and he can’t wait to have him. 

“Mm, so you have some important business tonight?” Jeonghan murmurs. 

Seungcheol sighs heavily, wanting nothing more than to forget about Yang for half an hour and mark up Jeonghan’s collarbones. “So what if I do?” 

“What is it? Drug deal, arms, politics - " 

Seungcheol tenses. And Jeonghan must feel it; his back goes rigid. They stop dancing and Seungcheol squeezes his hips harder than yesterday. Hard enough that he feels Jeonghan wince. "Any particular reason why you care, angel?" 

"I want to help you." He's breathless, maybe even a little scared. Seungcheol likes it, likes the way he quakes in his grip. 

"You're aide to the Speaker of the National fucking Assembly," he hisses in Jeonghan's ear, a specific sort of heat thrumming through his body now. It's different than desire, but just as heady and dangerous. "You think I'm gonna trust you?" 

"You _bought_ the Speaker," he murmurs, thin fingers sliding over his, trying to release the pressure on his hips - fuck, he wants to leave Jeonghan _bruised._ "He would never go against you, and if he does he's an idiot. I'm not that stupid, Seungcheol. Let me help you." 

He leans in a bit, lips brushing Jeonghan's pulse point. It throbs wildly, and Seungcheol shivers. "Why? Why do you want to help? What's in it for you?" 

He shifts as best as he can, turning his head to meet Seungcheol's gaze. His doe eyes are sharp and lucid, severe and beautiful; he is intelligent, serious, and dangerous. Something Seungcheol never would’ve expected from Assemblyman Park’s aide. But Jeonghan is more than that, obviously. 

_“Park doesn’t know what he wants, not really. He - he thinks so small.”_

“Maybe I want more than what I have,” Jeonghan whispers and for the briefest of moments those eyes flash dark, glancing at his lips. “Maybe I’m tired of paperwork and politics and I just…” 

Seungcheol slides his finger under Jeonghan’s chin, tilts his head up. This way they're close enough to kiss and desire churns hot and heavy in Seungcheol's body. “You’re ambitious. You want power. And you know you won’t find it with Park.” 

“Exactly.” He bites his bottom lip; Seungcheol watches it turn the softest shade of white beneath his teeth. “I know my body. I know the effect I have on people.” 

Seungcheol smirks, thinking about every single move Jeonghan makes. How _controlled_ he is. And he can’t help wondering if it was easy to get into Park’s bed. He can’t help wondering how far _gone_ the assemblyman is for him. “You think you can seduce the men and women I do business with into giving me anything and everything I want?” 

“I know I can,” he says, confidence dripping from his voice like poison. “For instance, I’ve got you here with me when you know there’s no chance of me actually going home with you.” 

The truth cuts through his facade and for a moment Seungcheol debates casting him aside. He’s wounded and he wants to prove Yoon Jeonghan wrong. But what’s the point when they both know he’s right? What’s the point when they both know he has won? He lets his grip tighten on him once again; he holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger, noting the way Jeonghan’s eyes harden. “You’re walking a thin fucking line, Jeonghan-ah.” 

“You like it,” he whispers, trembling like a livewire. “And you know this Yang will like it too. Let me help you.” 

“What happens if it doesn’t work the way you want?” He shifts his hand to press his thumb against Jeonghan’s bottom lip, desire arcing through him when Jeonghan closes his eyes for a moment. Breathes in slowly. He wants so badly what he can’t have. Wants so badly to kiss and claim and feel Jeonghan come alive beneath him. He doesn’t want Yang to touch him or crave him. He wants to be _selfish._ “What if your little… stunts make it worse?” 

Jeonghan tilts his head, Seungcheol’s thumb sliding back down to his chin, tugging his lip along with it. “Then you’re free to do with me what you will.” 

It’s such a loaded statement and the weight it holds in the face of Jeonghan’s audacity, his arrogance, is only expounded by the way he presses against Seungcheol. The muscles in his slender neck twitch with the effort of turning his head like this; he is so wholly unlike anything Seungcheol has ever seen. “Fine. But you stay quiet and follow my lead. Understood?” 

“Yes,” he breathes and Seungcheol parts his lips to catch it on his tongue. 

He lets Jeonghan's chin go, hand sliding back down to his hip. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” 

A soft chuckle passes his lips, haughty and brazen, lost to the throbbing bass. “On the contrary. I know exactly what I’m getting into.” 

As they relax some and let their bodies move with the music, Seungcheol toes the line. He kisses Jeonghan’s neck, nips at the spot behind his ear; he pushes the boundaries that have been set and he’s pleasantly surprised when Jeonghan lets him. It should piss him off, he knows. It should drive him crazy that Jeonghan has him giving in so easily when there’s no promise of anything more. 

Isn’t there? 

The way Jeonghan responds to his touch and his lips, the way he looks at him… it could all be an act to get Seungcheol where he wants. Like he does with Park. But… maybe it’s more. Maybe Jeonghan _does_ want him. 

It’ll just take some work. Some patience. 

“The scary guy you call a second in command is watching us,” Jeonghan murmurs as Seungcheol mouths along his jaw. “He looks like he wants to kill me.” 

“Don’t take it personally. He looks at everyone like that.” But Seungcheol still lifts his head and meets Wonwoo’s harsh gaze from across the dance floor, through the smokey haze settled over everything. It must be nearing time for the meeting. 

Which means Seungcheol has to let Jeonghan go. Let him flirt and seduce Yang Xinyi so they can get what they need from him. 

Wonwoo won’t like it. 

“Are you ready, angel?” Seungcheol murmurs into his ear, watching the way Wonwoo’s eyes harden. “He’ll be here soon.” 

“I’m ready if you are.” 

Kudos to him; Seungcheol can’t make out any nervousness in his voice. After one last kiss to his neck, Seungcheol leads him away from the dance floor, towards Wonwoo and the booth in the back. And Wonwoo wastes no time. 

“What are you doing with him?” he demands, decidedly ignoring Jeonghan with eyes only for Seungcheol. “I thought we said - “ 

“He’s helping us,” Seungcheol says and he lets authority slip into his voice. It’s a tone he usually never has to use with Wonwoo because Wonwoo’s smarter than this; smart enough to know that he can’t boss Seungcheol around so forcefully. 

Or so Seungcheol thought. 

For a moment Wonwoo looks between them dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?” 

“Listen, there’s a reason why we haven’t been able to secure Yang and his product after all these years,” Seungcheol said. “Trust me, one look at Jeonghan and he’ll agree to anything we want.” 

Wonwoo raises a brow in the way he always does when he doesn’t like what Seungcheol’s saying. But he doesn’t object. He just sighs and motions to the booth. 

Jeonghan sits down with a grin that Seungcheol wants to kiss away. And as soon as he sits down too Jeonghan sidles up to him, fitting so perfectly tucked beneath his arm. 

Wonwoo takes a seat opposite them and Seungcheol’s never seen him so… perturbed. 

“So is this Yang guy a drug dealer?” Jeonghan asks. 

“More or less,” Seungcheol says. “He’s China’s biggest player and we need him on our side if we’re to expand west. But we’ve never been able to establish any kind of connection with him. Not even when my father ran things.” 

“I see.” He fidgets a bit in a way that makes Seungcheol want to guard him, to keep Yang Xinyi from seeing him. Mostly because he can’t account for the way Yang will treat him. He won’t be able to account for his safety. And for some reason it worries him. Fuck, he’s known Yoon Jeonghan for twenty-four hours and already he’s gone. “Leave that to me, hmm?” 

Wonwoo coughs a bit. “I’m sure it won’t take much, seeing as how you already have Seungcheol wrapped around your finger.” 

His tone is tense, the words are cold, and Seungcheol has half a mind to dismiss him. This is hardly behavior he’s used to from Wonwoo and he doesn’t care for it. Doesn't want him around if he's going to act like this. 

Jeonghan smirks, leaning forward a bit, eyes shining in the crimson light. “And what exactly are you implying?” 

There’s a dangerous lilt to his voice that Seungcheol wants to get lost in. 

“I’m not implying anything,” Wonwoo bites back. “You’re a sl - “ 

His phone trills in his pocket, perfectly timed, and he huffs a sigh as he digs it out. Jeonghan just sits quietly, still wearing that wicked smirk. 

Seungcheol wants a fucking drink. 

“You’re here?” Wonwoo says into his phone, face back to its default unreadable state. It never ceases to amaze Seungcheol how quickly he can turn it on and off. “All right, I’ll let him know. Thank you, Junhui.” 

“They’re early,” Seungcheol comments, Jeonghan fidgeting again. But he can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or something else. 

Wonwoo nods, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Get ready. They’ll be walking in any second now.” 

Seungcheol puts his arm around Jeonghan’s slim shoulders and leans in to whisper in his ear. “Remember, just behave.” 

He pouts, quite literally, and Seungcheol longs to kiss him. “That’s no fun.” 

“I know.” Ignoring Wonwoo’s gaze burning into him he reaches up to stroke his thumb across Jeonghan’s cheek. “Follow my lead, hmm?” 

Jeonghan flutters his eyelashes innocently, though the curve of his lips is sinful. “Yes sir.” 

The honey dripping from his voice goes straight to Seungcheol’s head and he can’t fucking believe Yang Xinyi will get to fuck Jeonghan before he does. It’s not _fair._ But apparently Jeonghan can read minds, or he just knows men as well as it seems he does, because the smirk on his lips turns condescendingly pitying and he pats Seungcheol’s chest without a word. 

It drives him crazy. 

He tightens his arm around him. 

Distantly, the door to the club opens and he and Wonwoo look toward it at the same time. Wen Junhui walks in first, tall and thin and striking as ever, black hair falling into his sharp eyes. He glances around the club in amusement, like he can’t wait to play and make his rounds. And then he spots Seungcheol; they lock eyes and Junhui’s smirk widens. 

“Is that him?” Jeonghan whispers, sounding a bit too excited. 

“No, that’s Wen Junhui,” Seungcheol murmurs, eyes finding the shorter, broader figure that enters behind him - and the words tumble from his mouth without him having to think. How can he, when Yang Xinyi is finally here? “He’s our, ah, liaison when it comes to Chinese matters. The man behind him, flanked by the two big guys? Yeah, that’s Yang Xinyi.” 

Jeonghan licks his lips, eyes narrowing a bit as he no doubt sizes Yang up. “He doesn’t look that important.” 

“Trust me,” Seungcheol says softly as he takes his arm from around his shoulders, opting instead to rest his hand on Jeonghan’s thigh. It’s warm and slender beneath his hand, skin burning through the tight jeans he wears, and he squeezes. Jeonghan breathes in sharply. “He’s important.” 

As Yang approaches, bodyguards taking their spots a couple yards away, Seungcheol’s heart starts beating just a bit faster and he stands up to bow to the man. 

So do Wonwoo and Jeonghan. 

Yang and Junhui bow back and their eyes linger on Jeonghan for a few moments too long. 

Introductions commence, but the only one who speaks is Junhui. Fluent in Korean, Cantonese, and Mandarin, he would serve as translator if Yang Xinyi didn’t know twice the languages he did. No, he’s merely here for show, to bridge the gap between the two organizations. So he starts with Yang first, presenting him to Seungcheol as if he had no idea who he was. Then he moves onto them, eyes flicking once more to Jeonghan in between breaths. 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he says a mere moment after Wonwoo’s name leaves his lips, and his smirk is so similar to the one Jeonghan wears. 

“We have not.” His big, wide eyes glitter as he speaks. “My name is Yoon Jeonghan.” 

Seungcheol snakes an arm around his waist, drawing him against him. “He’s my ah… _friend.”_

The look Jeonghan gives him is brief but telling; Seungcheol masks a whispered “trust me” as a kiss against his ear as they all sit down. For a moment no one speaks, but Yang Xinyi’s eyes are right where they should be. He looks at Jeonghan with curiosity that borders on dark and hungry. It makes Seungcheol’s stomach turn. But Jeonghan preens under his gaze. Just like he had with the audience before him last night, he eats it up. Bats his eyelashes as he leans towards Seungcheol, fingers teasing the buttons on his shirt. Sugar on his red lips as he teases them along Seungcheol’s neck. 

He plays the innocent, dim-witted lover well, an act he no doubt puts on for the assemblyman too. It leaves Seungcheol feeling used, but he can’t decide if he likes it or not. He certainly likes the way Jeonghan hangs off of him, the way he presses back against his hand. 

But it’s not for Seungcheol's benefit. 

“He must be new,” Junhui says as he watches them with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had a… _friend,_ hyung.” 

Wonwoo looks away. 

“He looks more than just a ‘friend’,” Yang comments, eyes following the way Jeonghan’s hand trails down Seungcheol’s chest. 

And Jeonghan giggles, the sound so light and carefree. “I guess I am.” 

“Why don’t we move onto business, hmm?” Wonwoo asks softly. “That way we can all get back to… enjoying ourselves.” 

Seungcheol nods and reaches for Jeonghan’s thigh again. He likes the way it feels under his hand, the way Jeonghan gasps softly when he squeezes. He likes how _warm_ he is, the way holding Jeonghan like this seems to ground him. 

The way it works to their advantage is simply a bonus. 

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Mr. Yang,” Seungcheol says softly. “We are honored.” 

He doesn’t speak at first, eyes sharp as they regard Jeonghan. “Is he to be trusted?” 

Jeonghan tenses ever so slightly and Seungcheol tries to soothe it out with a few slow rubs on his thigh. “Hannie?” he asks Yang, putting as much disbelief as he can muster into his words. “Of course he is. I’d trust him with my life.” And then, voice lowering, he turns towards Jeonghan who meets him with wide, waiting eyes. He pouts ever so slightly and Seungcheol cups his jaw, thumb running over his jutted lower lip. “Wouldn’t I, angel?” 

He giggles once more, softer this time, and Seungcheol can’t take much more of this. Not with his eyes shining so brightly. “You would, Cheollie.” 

It takes every fiber of his being to force himself to look away from Jeonghan and back at Yang, whose gaze has hardly changed. “He’s harmless,” Seungcheol says. “But if you really want, I can send him away while we talk business.” 

Yang says nothing. 

Jeonghan grins, showing off his perfect teeth, and leans in to kiss Seungcheol’s cheek. “Who says I even want to _be_ here for that? It always gets so boring. Mm, I wanna dance.” 

God, he’s got it down to a fucking formula now. Bats his eyes, flashes a pout, and then he’s off to the dance floor where he’s truly a sight to behold. So Seungcheol lets him. They share a soft kiss that’s more teasing than anything else and then Jeonghan’s gone, swaying his hips more than necessary as he walks away. 

Yang follows his movements. 

“He’s, uh, a lot,” Junhui notes with raised eyebrows. “Have you known him long, hyung?” 

“Not too long,” which isn’t far from the truth. “And yeah, he’s a bit high maintenance sometimes. But it’s more than worth it in bed. Trust me.” 

Wonwoo coughs twice. 

Junhui grins wickedly. “I’ll bet. Well, congratulations then I guess, hyung.” 

A few moments later Soonyoung stops by to drop off their drinks; Junhui told him Yang’s poison of choice weeks ago and he’s been perfecting it ever since. And once they’ve got the warm sting of alcohol in their systems, they begin. 

As they talk, Seungcheol remembers his father telling him about Yang Xinyi, how scrupulous and demanding he was, refusing to agree to any compromises. He wanted _this_ percentage of the profits, only _these_ specific strains, only through _these_ certain areas… Tonight is very much the same; no matter what Seungcheol does, no matter how Junhui and Wonwoo placate, they stay stuck at this impasse. 

Until Jeonghan. 

Maybe half an hour into talks, he returns to the table. He’s swaying slightly, giggling a bit madly, nothing but blissful innocence on his face, and he sits right on Seungcheol’s lap. Wraps thin arms around him, kisses his jaw and cheeks, the corner of his mouth. Seungcheol tries not to melt into it; this serves a purpose, he knows it does. And going off of the look in Yang’s eyes, it’s working. 

“Angel, we’re busy,” Seungcheol murmurs as he draws back from Jeonghan’s warm kisses. “Why don’t you keep dancing, hmm?” 

“But I’m lonely,” he whines, blond hair falling into his eyes like strands of gold, and Seungcheol brushes them back. “Come dance with me, Cheollie.” 

He knows it’s merely for show, pretty certain he’s following where Jeonghan’s going with this - but fuck, does he want to dance with him. “I can’t, baby. Not until we’re done.” 

Pouting, he glances across the table at Yang - and then he smiles. It’s as blinding as it is innocuous, and Seungcheol hopes Yang falls for it. _“You_ should come dance with me!” Jeonghan chirps, already sliding off of Seungcheol’s lap to grab Yang’s hand. 

He pretends like he doesn’t miss his warmth, the weight of him. 

Yang tries to get out of it, like he hadn’t been watching Jeonghan grind against random men with hungry eyes a few minutes ago. “I’m afraid I - “ 

“Please?” Jeonghan asks with those big, beautiful eyes of his, a soft lilt to his voice. “Just for a little bit. You look really stressed, Mr. Yang. I promise it’ll make you feel better!” 

If there’s a man that Seungcheol thought could resist Jeonghan’s charms, he figured it would be Yang Xinyi. But those thoughts were wrong, it turns out; he looks at Seungcheol and asks him for permission. 

China’s biggest, most powerful drug runner, asking _him_ for permission. 

Seungcheol doesn’t miss the wicked glint in Jeonghan’s eyes, and he agrees without even needing to think about it. 

And just like that, Jeonghan’s leading Yang to the dance floor with loud, playful giggles and roaming hands that are a lot less innocent than they seem. 

Junhui chuckles softly before taking a sip of his drink. “He’s incredible, hyung. Where’d you snatch him up?” 

“Here actually,” he says, watching the way Jeonghan presses back against Yang’s body, bathed in the red light that paints his skin so beautifully. “He didn’t seem scared of me the way everyone else is and, I don’t know. I liked it.” 

Wonwoo snorts into his own drink, brushing it off as a cough. 

Seungcheol ignores it; if Wonwoo has something to say Seungcheol will try to pry it from him later. If not, they’ll move on. Besides, Wonwoo is really the least of his worries right now. 

Yang is holding Jeonghan the way Seungcheol does, back to chest, and it shouldn’t make him feel like this. He shouldn’t want to march over and separate them, deal be damned, because Jeonghan is _his_ \- but that’s the thing. Jeonghan isn’t his in any way, he’s made that perfectly clear. Seungcheol can delude himself as much as he wants, can pull him close and etch kisses into his skin and _pretend,_ but Jeonghan does not belong to him. He belongs to no one, and Seungcheol wonders if Yang can see this. Jeonghan’s hardly being subtle, grinding back against him with an absolutely debauched look on his face. 

He’s playing a role and Seungcheol aches in his bones. 

Not even ten minutes later, they come back to the table. Jeonghan lets go of Yang’s hand as he sits on Seungcheol’s lap again. He’s thrumming in Seungcheol’s grasp, like he’s ready to break free of the constrictions his part gives him. 

He’s got eyes only for Yang. 

“Cheollie,” he murmurs, sliding slow fingers through his hair, nails scratching his scalp, “I want him.” 

Seungcheol clears his throat and he feigns nonchalance as he meets Yang’s gaze, as he catches the lust and possession in his eyes. He wonders if that’s how _he_ looks when he glances at Jeonghan, when he dances with him, when he thinks about him. Undone, wounded. Stripped bare and vulnerable for the taking. 

“Yeah angel?” he says. “Does he want you too?” 

Yang clears his throat, hands coming up in a placating fashion - really, he’s half the man he was fifteen minutes ago when he was demanding more than half of what’s standard for profits in this business. Now he’s nervous, fidgeting, eyes dark as they watch all of Jeonghan’s movements. He’s glued to him, under his spell so quickly, so wholly. 

“I don’t want to cause any discomfort or unease,” he says as if he wasn’t just groping Jeonghan on the dance floor Seungcheol owns, a mere few yards away from him. “He’s yours, Choi - “ 

He shakes his head. “Not tonight. Not if you want him.” And then, to really cement it, he gives Jeonghan’s slender thigh a squeeze. “That is, if you think you can handle him, Yang.” 

It’s a challenge, one Yang would be foolish to refuse, and he knows it. Besides, it’d be disrespectful if he turned down such an offer. Especially with Jeonghan looking at him the way he is, eyes wide and beautiful and entreating. 

Seungcheol doesn’t want to think about the way he’ll open up for Yang. Will he be soft and whiny, arching at every touch? Will he be bratty, demanding more and more and more until they’re both spent and bruised? 

Yang nods. “Then he’s mine. Tonight.” 

“After I get a moment alone, of course,” Seungcheol says, jealousy rising through him like bile. Bitter and acidic, it rests on his tongue and this is the last thing he wants. 

But it’ll get Yang where they want him. 

“Of course,” Yang agrees. 

Ignoring Wonwoo’s icy gaze searing through him, ignoring the amusement on Junhui’s face, Seungcheol gently pushes Jeonghan from his lap. Then he helps him from the table, flashing Yang a smile as he leads Jeonghan to somewhere darker, more secluded. He presses him against the wall and Jeonghan just grins up at him, as if he’s so proud of himself. 

“You need to get him on our side,” Seungcheol murmurs. “By the time you leave him tomorrow morning, he should be willing to call me and agree to everything I want.” 

Jeonghan scoffs softly as he skims his fingers down Seungcheol’s chest. “And then some. Fuck, it didn’t take much to get him this far.” 

“I saw.” 

Something sparkles in his eyes and he presses closer. Their mouths all but touch and Seungcheol swallows Jeonghan’s sweet breaths. “Are you jealous?” 

“So what if I am?” He wraps an arm around him. “You know I want you. Are you surprised?” 

“Not surprised,” he murmurs. “Just… satisfied.” 

Seungcheol opens his mouth to speak but it dies in his throat when Jeonghan closes the minute distance between them. The moment their lips meet, everything in Seungcheol’s body goes haywire. He ceases thinking, breathing, feeling - he exists only for this moment, only for Jeonghan and his perfect mouth and the wet touch of his tongue against his. He lives for the long, thin fingers curling in his shirt, in the hairs along the back of his neck; for the slender body pressed to his own, for the soft sounds he swallows. 

He comes back to himself in that moment, Jeonghan pliant and warm beneath his hands, and shoves him against the wall. 

Jeonghan moans into his mouth. 

The desire to claim, to bruise and mark, hums strong and heady in Seungcheol’s veins and he grips Jeonghan’s hips hard. Lifts him up so his long legs can wrap around his waist. Bites down on his lip and then _blood_ fills his senses. He tastes it, cold like copper on his tongue, feels it warm and wet on their lips, hears it thrumming through Jeonghan’s body, pounding in his own ears. 

Everything inside Seungcheol sings for Jeonghan, cries out for him, aches for him. 

And then Jeonghan pulls back. 

Tiny droplets of blood pool along his lower lip, right where Seungcheol bit him, and he hopes Yang will find them. Run his tongue over the mark and think about what doesn’t belong to him. 

How ironic. 

“You’re mine,” Seungcheol breathes, and delusion has never felt so good; with the taste of him on his lips, his tongue; desire swirling, pounding through his body like a storm. 

Jeonghan merely smirks at him and Seungcheol doesn’t want to let him go. But the future of his organization depends on it. So he sets Jeonghan down with a heavy sigh. 

“Be safe, be careful,” he murmurs. “And come back to me.” 

He laughs softly, light and airy. “You mean the assemblyman.” 

At his mention, Seungcheol lets go. Steps back. Jeonghan watches him with shining eyes and Seungcheol can’t do this. He’s never wanted someone, something so fucking bad - Jeonghan isn't even his. But he's so far gone, so undone, he knows he’d be willing to do anything for Jeonghan. It’s been a single day and he’d do whatever it takes to keep him by his side. 

And Jeonghan knows it too. 

Seungcheol doesn’t sleep again that night. Staring at the taut lines of Kiyoshi’s back in the moonlight, all he can think about is Jeonghan. Is he safe? Is Yang treating him okay? He doesn’t even care about the deal, doesn’t care about why Jeonghan’s doing this anymore. And it drives him crazy. 

Why is he acting like this? Why, of all people, is Yoon Jeonghan making him this way? He’s a politician’s aide, nothing important in the grand scheme of things. Yet Seungcheol can’t get him out of his head. Can’t forget the taste of his breath, the rise and fall of his chest, the touch of his hands and his lips. Yoon Jeonghan is a thorn that’s dug itself under his skin and the infection has already spread to his mind. Now he’s just waiting for it to reach his heart, an inevitability that seems so fantastical in and of itself. 

Seungcheol doesn’t fall in love. Not anymore. Especially not with men like Yoon Jeonghan. He’s a rose of the deadly sort, too beautiful to be warm, sweet-smelling poison clinging to his petals, Seungcheol can just tell. It’s in the way his heart beats with such an irregular rhythm when Jeonghan is near. It’s in the way he can’t think straight, like there’s a haze settling in the synapses of his nervous system, tricking his mind and his body into believing what it wants, corrupting his memory until there’s nothing left but Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan is dangerous, bad for him, he knows it. But he can’t help himself. 

He feels alive for the first time in years. And he wants to cling to it. It reminds him of a life he used to lead, a life he could look forward to. A life he treasured. 

With his wickedness and callous seduction, Yoon Jeonghan is everything Seungcheol did not know he needed. And now Yang Xinyi has him, in his bed. Yang Xinyi gets to worship him. 

Seungcheol sighs heavily, turning onto his back rather jerkily. 

Kiyoshi wakes with a soft noise. It doesn’t take long for him to flick on the lamp resting on his bedside table, blinking and squinting in the gentle light like a cat. Guilt settles in Seungcheol’s heart then for waking him up and he shifts closer to kiss his forehead, his wrinkled eyelids. It’s instinctual, born more out of a lingering sense of responsibility than anything else. 

“It’s all right, Ki,” he murmurs. “Please go back to sleep.” 

Kiyoshi shakes his head and reaches for Seungcheol’s hands. His always make Seungcheol feel so big and bad and rough; with long, pale fingers he strokes over Seungcheol’s scarred knuckles. With soft palms he touches slowly. There’s not a callous to be found on his perfect skin. Nothing marred or broken or out of place. Kiyoshi is pure, and Seungcheol can’t stand it sometimes. “What’s wrong? Why are you awake?” 

“No reason. Sleep, Ki.” 

But he shakes his head again, as stubborn as Seungcheol is, and he presses close for some soft kisses. It’s moments like these that hurt Seungcheol, that hurt them both. Moments when they feel like they used to. Moments when the affection between them isn’t forced or awkward. “Talk to me. Please.” 

His tone falters and Seungcheol knows he’s begging, entreating. He knows Kiyoshi means it, he wants him to open up. But Seungcheol can’t, definitely not about this. So he kisses him instead. Curls his tongue against Kiyoshi’s, opens up for him like this. 

And Kiyoshi brokers no arguments as he spreads his legs for him. 

Seungcheol touches, kisses, fucks him the way he wants Jeonghan. 

When sleep finally claims them both, Kiyoshi is bruised and spent, and Seungcheol is satisfied. 

The next morning, he’s in the office with Wonwoo when Wen Junhui calls. 

“I don’t know how he did it,” he says, sounding as awed as Seungcheol’s ever heard, “but Jeonghan got under Yang’s skin. You’ve got your deal, hyung. Exactly the way you want it.” 

For the third night in a row, Seungcheol’s at Perdition. He could say it’s because he’s celebrating, he could say it’s because he likes marveling over his empire. But really, he’s hoping Jeonghan will be here again. It’s pathetic and desperate but he can’t help himself. 

The kiss they shared is carved into his brain whether he likes it or not. 

This time, he goes alone. Something tells him that Wonwoo is more than happy to let him, especially if he’ll see Jeonghan again. Which is a topic they’ve yet to discuss, though it nags at Seungcheol’s mind almost as insistently as the kiss. 

Whatever. He doesn’t care. No, he just wants to get drunk. Feel Jeonghan up. 

He settles in his booth with his glass of vodka (Soonyoung refused to just give him the bottle because “it’s unbecoming, hyung”) and watches. Since it’s a Monday night the crowd today is a bit different than the weekend. Mostly idols thinking they won’t be seen, unemployed chaebols and their equally rich friends. It’s not a crowd Seungcheol usually associates with - they’re usually too vain, too _young_ for him to give a shit. No, once he turned thirty a few years ago he decided to stop chasing twenty year olds. Too much work, not enough payoff. 

Well, really he decided to stop chasing _anyone_ back then. It’s not just the twenty year olds that end up not being worth it; Seungcheol spent too long thoroughly unsatisfied with everyone he came across. 

_“Maybe you should focus on your husband,”_ Wonwoo had told him a while back, cleaning up after a threesome with a young vice chairman and his wife that left him feeling icky. It’d been the tenderness in their eyes when they touched each other and they’d tried to turn that intimacy towards Seungcheol. _“He misses you.”_

_“We’re not… really in love or anything,”_ Seungcheol had said as he sat naked in the chair in the corner of the Gangnam- gu apartment. _“I mean we were once but… well, our parents made us get married. I don’t - I don’t love him anymore. Not like the couple tonight loved each other.”_

Wonwoo had sighed, eyes flicking towards his as he unfolded the new sheet set. _“So? He’s still your husband, hyung. What do you think his father would do if he found out - “_

Even now, he remembers the anxiety that had swum through his system, threatening to drown him in fear and what ifs. _“He’s not_ going _to find out,”_ he’d snapped at Wonwoo. _“That’s why we don’t tell Kiyoshi about all this, remember?”_

He breathes through it now, phantoms pressing down on his lungs, his throat with their invisible hands, making him afraid of nothing. 

“What exactly are _you_ doing here on a Monday night, Seungcheol-ah?” 

Like he’s a dog trained, more than willing to please and obey his master, his head snaps up at the sound. Jeonghan’s voice. He’s standing before the booth with a playful smirk and his hands on his hips. 

And _bruises._

Hickeys. 

Bite marks. 

They litter the skin he’s chosen to expose (three buttons undone, once again showing off those perfect collarbones), angry and bright in the crimson light. 

Seungcheol stands and his hands shake. His knees shake. His fingers tingle and ache and he can’t think straight - he wants to crush Jeonghan to him - wants to make sure he’s okay - wants to fuck him senseless right here on this table - 

In the face of his bitter desire, his insufferable want to soothe, Jeonghan grins. It’s impish and cruel, and he speaks so informally. “Is something the matter, Cheol-ah?” 

He knows exactly what he’s doing, of course he fucking does - 

“Are you okay?” he manages through gritted teeth. 

His laugh is just as teasing as his smile, as the possessive reminders on his skin. “What, this? Absolutely. It was completely consensual. In fact, I asked him to do it. And Xinyi was more than willing.” 

“I’ll bet he was,” Seungcheol bites out. 

The jealousy once again churning like acid in his stomach is completely unfounded; would he not give in to Jeonghan’s every whim, too? 

Jeonghan steps closer, and Seungcheol lets him. They touch, Jeonghan’s eyes meeting his as he bites his lip. “You’re welcome, by the way,” he murmurs as his fingers curl in Seungcheol’s belt loops. Taunting him. “If it wasn’t for me and my… persuasions - “ 

“I don’t want you doing it again,” Seungcheol hisses, pressing him to him with a hand on his ass, and he wonders why Jeonghan allows him to do this. Does he get some sick satisfaction out of it, knowing he’s got Choi Seungcheol wrapped around his bony fucking finger? 

“Why not?” He pouts, the way he’s good at, tilting his head to mouth along Seungcheol’s jawline. The gentle brush of his lips sends shivers down Seungcheol’s spine and he closes his eyes. He can’t _fucking_ do this. “You’re really jealous, aren’t you? I bet you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Mm, I also bet it’s not the first time you’ve thought about me in bed. Hmm? Pressed up against that pretty husband of yours - “ 

Anger, red and raw and real, surges through Seungcheol’s body and he acts on it. Reaches up. Wraps unforgiving fingers around Jeonghan’s bruised, slender throat. There are no thoughts in his head, nothing but the desire to protect. But to protect himself or Kiyoshi, he has no idea. 

Not that it matters; either way the reaction is reflexive, visceral. He doesn't think as he stares Jeonghan down, eyes hard as they look back. 

His pulse stutters against Seungcheol's palm. 

His breath rattles in his trachea. 

His eyes shine with iniquity, dark and tempting. 

“Sore spot?” he asks in a strained voice, Adam’s apple rubbing against Seungcheol’s palm. 

“Don’t fucking mention him,” Seungcheol snarls in return. He doesn’t know why but the mere thought of Jeonghan saying Kiyoshi’s name fills him with rage. He doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to deal with it. “Don’t talk about him, don’t say his name, don’t even think about him.” 

“Or what?” 

He squeezes, and the strangled gasp Jeonghan lets out blends well with the anger in his body. “Don’t try my patience, Jeonghan. My husband is off-limits. Am I understood?” 

He nods a bit too frantically than Seungcheol was expecting - so he lets him go. 

Jeonghan steps back, coughing and hacking as the breath returns to his body. And he looks up at him with wet, flashing eyes, an indignant curl to his lips. 

Seungcheol pulls him close once more, leaning down to kiss his neck, to kiss away the pressure of his grip, to kiss away the bruises that will most likely form there. Jeonghan melts against him, breathing shakily as Seungcheol soothes him - and himself. But he won’t apologize, not with the wicked glee he’d seen in Jeonghan’s eyes, talking about Kiyoshi like that. No, Jeonghan was wrong and he needed to be made aware of it. 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, breath touching his ear. “Seungcheol, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t talk,” he whispers and he sucks a dark, deep mark along Jeonghan’s pulse. Yang left it unmarked; it thrums wildly beneath his lips, matching the desire knotting his stomach, the anger still in his heart. “Why don’t we go dance?” 

The next day, Jeonghan shows up to his office completely unannounced, in a handsome suit that hugs his slender body in all the right ways. His marks and bruises are covered up almost professionally with makeup, and with his golden hair tucked behind his ears he looks untouched. Angelic. 

Wonwoo excuses himself before the door can even close behind Jeonghan, and then they’re alone. 

Jeonghan smirks and he’s holding a folder in his hands. “I was asked by the assemblyman to deliver these.” 

“Usually he sends an email.” Something goes off in his brain and he leans back in his chair, smirking at Jeonghan. “Ah. That was always you, wasn’t it?” 

Jeonghan comes around the desk and perches himself on the edge, just out of Seungcheol’s reach, eyes shining. “Of course it was. Park’s pushing fifty-five, you really think he knows how to work technology? Knowing him, he probably would’ve sent you all this shit from his work email. Considering that once I tried to explain encryption to him and he just went blank.” 

Seungcheol chuckles softly, reaching for the folder. “I see. So what’s with the in-person visit today, then?” 

“Just wanted to pop by,” he murmurs with sparks in his gaze. 

He lets Seungcheol pull him into his lap, the folder all but discarded as Seungcheol kisses those soft, perfect lips of his. 

These “pop by”s start happening almost daily - Jeonghan shows up to drop off some information Assemblyman Park needs him to look over, or whatever excuse he can come up with - and they always end up making out. Whether it’s in Seungcheol’s desk chair or with Jeonghan pressed against the wall. And sometimes Jeonghan lets him push his limits. He’s slid his hand into Jeonghan’s slacks before, teased the wet head of his cock through his boxers. He’s gotten Jeonghan’s shirt undone before, tongued his nipples, nipped at his bare collarbones. And he lives for those moments, when he’s able to make Jeonghan lose himself. 

When Jeonghan lets his guard down. 

It’s the only time Seungcheol feels any modicum of power with him; in those moments he can pretend he’s in control. He can let Jeonghan’s soft moans, his pliant breaths wash over him and it’s so goddamn good. It’s like oxygen when he can’t catch his breath; it’s like sustenance when he’s starving. He can’t get enough. 

But before they go too far, Jeonghan always pulls away. Always leaves with a smirk on his kiss-bitten lips, always leaves Seungcheol hard and wanting more. 

Jeonghan’s the one seeking him out, though. Jeonghan’s the one spending two hours in his office, letting Seungcheol stroke his cock through his pants while they discuss whatever information Park has for him. Sometimes it’s important and Seungcheol tries to focus. But most of the time he couldn’t care less because the muted heat of Jeonghan’s clothed erection under his palm is far more interesting than whatever it is Park has to say. 

When Jeonghan leaves, Wonwoo comes in to give Seungcheol judgmental stares as he fixes his hair, smooths his clothes out. 

They do nothing to deter his mood. Or his behavior. 

Sometimes they talk. Mostly it’s just Jeonghan trying to put a stop to the kissing and the touching by initiating a conversation with him. Like right now. He’s coming apart on Seungcheol’s lap; shirt on the floor, hickeys littering his collarbones, pants undone and Seungcheol’s fingertips brushing his clothed cock. But he pulls back and Seungcheol can see it in his eyes - they’re done kissing. 

But Seungcheol’s not going down without a fight. 

“How long do you think it’d take for you to come in your underwear like this, angel?” he murmurs, more than up to the task. 

Jeonghan laughs softly and there’s ice in it. Definitely, they’re done. “Why do you sleep with so many people?” 

Seungcheol sighs and glances at his hands, both of them at Jeonghan’s slender hips now, and he kind of… hates when Jeonghan gets like this. Curious. He asks so many questions that make Seungcheol feel like shit, or they’re questions he can’t answer. A few he doesn’t _want_ to answer. But no matter what Jeonghan forces it from him. Even a question like this, one he can’t really begin to explain. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?” 

“I’m just - “ 

“Curious?” Seungcheol finishes with a raised brow. 

“Yes.” 

Seungcheol meets his shining eyes. “Why not, I guess is my answer. I’m the richest man in the country. I have enough dirt on enough of the major players to bring our economy to a grinding halt if I wanted to. I have more power than I know what to do with - “ 

“You’re married.” 

He thinks back to a couple weeks ago, Jeonghan’s pulse skittering under his hand for the same offense. He thinks about Kiyoshi and the sins his husband will never know about. He squeezes Jeonghan’s hips to the point of pain, swallowing the wince he makes with a kiss. “I thought I told you - “ 

“You get mad at me for bringing him up,” he whispers, crossing a line no one else would dare touch, “and yet every night you have someone else in your bed. Why?” 

“Jeonghan,” he hisses and he can’t help it. 

“You’ve been married for over ten years and - “ 

Seungcheol reaches one hand up and knots it in Jeonghan’s soft hair; he tugs and Jeonghan’s body arches with it, a broken gasp escaping his lips. But it shuts him up. Sighing, Seungcheol leans in and mouths his chest, soothing in the same moment he punishes. “I’ve told you, angel, I’m not talking about him with you.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because it’s none of your fucking business. It’s no one’s business.” He lets go of his hair and Jeonghan’s eyes flash like they had a few weeks ago, the first time he brought up Kiyoshi. It makes Seungcheol want to pin him down. Rough him up. Make him beg for forgiveness. “Do you understand?” 

He glares at Seungcheol, something dark and dangerous in his eyes. “I really hate you sometimes, you know. You’re an asshole.” 

Seungcheol chuckles because it’s genuinely amusing. Of course he’s an asshole, it comes with the crime lord territory. And the look on Jeonghan’s face - he’s so upset, so indignant. As if he has any right to be. Seungcheol leans forward so that they’re close enough to kiss. “And you’re a little slut.” 

His reaction is instantaneous; eyes bright with ire he shoves Seungcheol back against his chair with a firm hand pressing down on his throat. It steals the breath from his body but he _likes_ it. Likes seeing Jeonghan like this, pissed off and shaking and hating him. 

“Fuck you,” he spits. 

Seungcheol manages a laugh as best as he can; it fails on his tongue, choked and broken. Weak to his own ears. But again, Jeonghan is genuinely amusing. Desire mixing with the rage in his eyes and he tells Seungcheol _that?_ “You like it, though. Slut.” 

Jeonghan practically snarls. 

It echoes throughout Seungcheol’s head; so does the blood pounding in his ears. 

Jeonghan’s hand comes off his neck and the kiss they share is hard and punishing for them both. But when they break apart, Jeonghan looks proud of himself. Satisfied. 

Seungcheol feels it. 

Every weekend, Jeonghan is at Perdition with the assemblyman - where Seungcheol can watch them. It feels teasing, mocking, as he sees the way Jeonghan dances with Park, the way Park holds him, kisses him. But then Jeonghan meets his eyes from across the room and Seungcheol knows it’s an act. 

The same way he knows that he’s the only man to capture Yoon Jeonghan’s attention like this. 

Maybe it’s some form of delusion but Seungcheol’s certain he is Jeonghan’s. With them, there’s nothing fake. When they’re together it’s not because Jeonghan craves the power he holds. Granted, that’s what got them here in the first place but now it’s more. 

It has to be. 

Then one Saturday night, Jeonghan’s nowhere to be found. Neither is Park. Seungcheol waits for _hours_ but they don’t show. It puts him in a bad mood as Wonwoo drives him home. He’s anxious, worried, overthinking everything. No calls, no texts, nothing. He can’t stand it. 

Then he’s kissing Kiyoshi hello when his phone rings and he can’t get to it fast enough. 

_Angel_ flashes across the screen. 

He turns away from his husband to answer it, without a second thought. “Hey, are you - “ 

Jeonghan sniffles. It crackles over the line and straight into Seungcheol’s heart. “Ch-Cheollie…” 

And just like that, he’s saying goodbye again, reaching for his keys, heading out the door. Barely even looks at Kiyoshi while he does it. How could he when Jeonghan was crying into his ear the whole time? “Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks as soon as he’s in the elevator, fearing the worst. He’s just not sure what that is. 

“I-I need you, Cheollie.” 

“I know, angel,” he murmurs, glancing at the little screen ticking off the floor numbers as they go down. It’s not going fast enough. “Are you at your apartment?” 

He sniffles again. “Y-Yeah.” 

The doors open; Seungcheol all but bursts through them as he enters the parking garage, desperate footsteps echoing off the cement pillars. “Okay, I’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t hang up, please.” 

He sounds so goddamn _broken._ Sad. Pitiful. It tugs at Seungcheol’s heart and by the time he’s starting his car there’s a lump in his throat. Of course he stays on the line with him; his drive is scored by the sounds of Jeonghan trying to calm himself down, by his own voice attempting to soothe and placate. Thankfully it’s not a long drive; before he knows it he’s standing outside Jeonghan’s door, soft cries echoing through the front door and into his ear. With trembling fingers, still holding his phone to his ear, Seungcheol types the code told to him. 

As soon as he pushes the door open, Jeonghan’s wrapped around him, shaking and sobbing into his shoulder. Seungcheol holds him so tightly, crushing him against him as a breathless groan passes Jeonghan’s lips. 

“What happened, baby?” he murmurs, untangling golden hair with his fingers. “Why are you so upset?” 

“You promise you can’t get mad.” 

Fuck. That doesn’t bode well. But he kisses the top of Jeonghan’s head nonetheless. “I won’t get mad, angel. What’s wrong?” 

He takes a deep breath and lifts his head - 

There’s a red, bruising mark on Jeonghan’s cheek and it greets Seungcheol angrily, standing out amongst his otherwise unblemished face - 

“What the fuck?” Seungcheol asks, holding Jeonghan’s chin gently so he can examine the mark. It takes up half of his left cheek, bright and damning. “Who did this to you?” 

Jeonghan’s lower lip trembles again. “Am I… Am I a slut, Seungcheol?” 

_“And you’re a little slut.”_

“No baby,” he murmurs and he strokes Jeonghan’s unbruised cheek, catching tears as they fall once more. He hates the guilt in his heart, twisting it into knots until it feels like a weight in his chest; he hates the way his own voice echoes through his head, haunting him with words he never really meant to say. “You’re not a slut. Who made you think you were, angel?” 

He takes a shaky breath, eyes wet and wide and innocent and Seungcheol wants to hurt whoever did this to him. He wants to hunt them down and _punish_ them. 

“Park,” Jeonghan finally whispers, clutching Seungcheol’s shirt with white knuckles. “Park, he-he - he was over here and we were - I wanted to go out, I wanted to go to Perdition and see you but he… he figured it out. We fought, he called me a slut. And - and then...” 

He trails off into trembling breaths full of tears and Seungcheol doesn’t know what to think. Doesn’t know what to _do._ So he just cups Jeonghan’s face in his hands and tries. At first, the words fail on his tongue, killed by disbelief, by the fear of actually speaking them aloud. His mouth is dry, and he tries again. “Baby, he hit you?” 

He nods quickly, frantically. “I-I… I can’t… Cheollie, I-I thought he loved me...” 

His breath stutters alongside his words, and his desperation breaks Seungcheol’s heart. He can’t _stand_ seeing him like this. At Park’s hand no less. But that’s not what he needs to focus on right now; no, he’ll calm Jeonghan down and then they’ll talk about it. So he kisses his forehead, his wet eyelids, the bridge of his nose. Cupping his beautiful face with the gentlest of hands. “Breathe, angel,” he murmurs. “Just breathe, okay?” 

“How - how could he do this?” Jeonghan hiccups between sobs, clutching to Seungcheol’s forearms with white knuckles. “He’s supposed to _love_ me, I-I know I’m - I’m not _easy_ to love but - “ 

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispers. “That doesn’t give him the right to do what he did. Okay?” 

Jeonghan agrees quietly and at least his tears have stopped falling now. But he still looks so sad, so broken. “Cheollie, he… he…” 

“What, baby? Did he do something else?” 

The look in his eyes is haunting, one that Seungcheol will remember for the rest of his life, he’s certain. He’s never seen someone so - so _betrayed,_ so hurt. And in his line of work, it’s something he deals with so often he’s become desensitized to it. But seeing it on Jeonghan’s face… well, it seems wrong, out of place. Like he shouldn’t be made to feel such a terrible emotion. “He, um…” 

The words still don’t come, but he pulls away. Reaches up to the buttons on his shirt. And with slow fingers he undoes them. With fracturing breaths he pushes the fabric from his skin and looks up at Seungcheol. 

But their eyes don’t meet. Seungcheol doesn’t even glance above his collarbones - 

Across Jeonghan’s honeyed skin, there are bruises that match his cheek. Broken welts that dribble blood. Red and purple and irate, they stare Seungcheol in the face and it’s more than he can really process. The only thought crossing his mind is _Park did this, Park did this to him._

He balls his hands into fists that make his fingers ache - 

“Where is he?” he bites out through gritted teeth. “Where the fuck is he?” 

“Seungcheol,” and Jeonghan’s there to calm him down, hands soothing, soft, pacifying as they try to uncurl his fingers. It’s not enough. “Baby, don’t. You promised you wouldn’t get mad - “ 

“That was before I knew he fucking _beat_ you,” he snarls. “I’m gonna kill him.” 

Jeonghan’s shaking his head, eyes wide and watery once again - he’s squeezing his hands, entwining their fingers - Seungcheol’s seeing red, breath coming fast and hard in his chest as he thinks about Park putting his hands on Jeonghan - “You can’t. Seungcheol, listen to me. You need him. Just because he - “ 

“Fuck that. He can’t treat you like this and get away with it. No.” He lets go of Jeonghan’s trembling hands and turns towards the door, every muscle in his body taut and tensed. “I’ll be back.” 

_“ Seungcheol."_

The aching, the helplessness in Jeonghan’s voice makes him stop, hand halfway to the doorknob. He’s on the verge of breaking and Seungcheol doesn’t know what to do. Every nerve in his body is raw, scraped, blistered - every part of him calls out for revenge. Begs for it. It’s urgent, an itch he needs to scratch, Park has it more than coming… But Jeonghan needs him more. He’s hurt and pleading for him to stay. 

Seungcheol turns around and any anger in his body immediately gives way to sorrow. Jeonghan’s face crumples once more; in this moment, he is fractured and young and terrified. Clinging to the gentle “baby”s and “angel”s that fall from Seungcheol’s lips, so lost and helpless the thought of not giving him whatever he wants makes Seungcheol’s heart ache. 

So he stays. He helps Jeonghan wash his face free of tears, he softly cleans his wounds, bandages what he can, ices what he can’t. And then he holds him in bed. To get his mind off of things they put on some mindless idol variety show but Jeonghan falls asleep before they even finish the first episode. He looks so small and innocent like this - and not his usual act of innocence. No, he truly looks harmless and gentle right now, burrowed against Seungcheol’s chest, hands balled into fists between them. 

Fuck, he can’t believe Park would _do_ that to someone, especially someone he’s so close to. It takes a special kind of person to do something like this to a lover, whether they’re cheating or not. And who the fuck is Park to judge something like that? Cheating on his wife of twenty years with his _aide,_ just to beat him up because he might be unfaithful too? Bullshit. 

Carefully, as to not accidentally jostle Jeonghan awake, Seungcheol reaches for his phone on the bedside table. Idle fingers find their way into Jeonghan’s hair and the soft strands sliding between them helps calm the rage rising in his body again. 

He calls Wonwoo, who picks up on the second ring. 

“Hyung?” He sounds tired. “Kiyoshi-hyung called a while ago, is everything - “ 

“Call Jihoon,” he says softly, and a soft smile touches his lips as Jeonghan nuzzles into his touch. He looks so precious in sleep, pouting just the littlest bit. “I have some business to take care of and I need the clean-up team ready.” 

Wonwoo sighs heavily and Seungcheol can picture him rubbing at his temple the way he does when he’s stressed. “Who are you… taking care of?” 

He strokes his thumb across Jeonghan’s unmarked cheekbone, down to his lips. Memorizes the soft touch of his warm skin. “Someone who deserves it.” 

Park’s “secret” apartment isn’t too far from Jeonghan’s, a coincidence Seungcheol assumes wasn’t actually one to begin with. He’s been here before, prior to the election, when he and Park were working out deals. It’s nicer than Jeonghan’s place, the perfect spot to hide away lovers. The halls are quiet and Seungcheol lets his mind wander as he walks, feeling the weight of his gun in his hand, through the glove. 

It’s going to be too easy, he knows. He’ll frame it as a suicide, forge a note on Park’s laptop. Play up the guilt, the shame. Shit about lying to his colleagues, his constituents, his family. He won’t name Jeonghan specifically but they could leak the CCTV footage from Perdition. Hell, Park’s a dumb fucking man - he probably has videos of Jeonghan on his phone. He’ll have Jihoon crop them or blur them or something. Keep Jeonghan out of it. 

And it would _work._ The public would be too entrenched in the scandal of their Speaker - fucking random men, spending his weekends high out his mind at a nightclub - to really think about the suicide. Sure, there’d be some who questioned it, there always are. But that’s why Seungcheol’s got hands in the NIS. It’s why he has the Seoul chief of police on his payroll, the media conglomerates in his pocket. 

Park isn’t making it out of this unscathed, one way or another. 

Finally, he reaches the assemblyman’s front door. Instead of knocking, Seungcheol just types in the passcode from memory. 

The door opens. 

It’s dark in the living room and for a moment Seungcheol’s not sure Park’s even here. But then he hears him talking to someone, his voice low, urgent, muted. The bedroom, maybe? 

Seungcheol closes the door as quietly as he can with one hand, the other holding tight to his gun, outfitted with a silencer. He makes his way through the apartment on light feet, sticking to corners and walls. As he nears the back bedroom, light spilling from the open door, Park’s voice grows louder. 

The timbre of it grates against Seungcheol’s nerves and he tries not to think about the word _“slut”_ tumbling from his lips. 

He stops near the bedroom door, staying just out of sight as he waits for Park to finish up whatever the fuck he’s doing. A phone call, probably. He thinks about Jeonghan waiting for him, sound asleep when he’d left. He thinks about Jeonghan, bruised and shaking and crying in his arms, all because of this man. 

He has to take deep breaths to calm the way his heart pounds. 

And then - Park hangs up the phone. 

Seungcheol steps into the light. 

Park is alone in the bedroom, shock clear on his face as he turns around. But he schools himself back into composure quickly, as if his breath isn’t starting to quicken. “Seungcheol. What are you - “ 

“You know exactly what I’m doing here,” he hisses. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out? He called me, you piece of shit. After what you did to him.” 

“What the fuck are you - oh.” A humorless chuckle passes his lips; Seungcheol tightens his grip on the gun, pointer finger pressing so lightly against the trigger. “I had no idea you were so gullible, Seungcheol. Do you really believe every word that comes out of his wicked mouth?” 

He grits his teeth, the weight of the gun inconsequential against the weight in his heart. “You’re a real piece of shit. I’m gonna enjoy this.” 

“What did he tell you?” 

Park stares at him with the confidence of an innocent man and it drives him insane. “He showed me the bruises, you asshole. Told me you called him a slut.” 

“He is.” 

He says it so easily, so nonchalantly - 

“I know you’ve been fucking him, Choi,” he spits, “or he’s sucking your dick at the very least, so don’t even try pretending it’s not happening. You think he’s doing it because he wants it? Because he _likes_ you?” He scoffs, a bitter, empty sound. “You’re a goddamn fool. That little snake doesn’t have an emotional bone in his body. He wormed his way into my bed for the power. Told me I could do great things with him at my side. And I believed him. But then he found you, the most powerful fucking man in Korea.” The smile that touches his lips then is cold, sardonic. “He’s using you, Seungcheol, don’t you get it? I’m in his way and - “ 

“Fuck you,” Seungcheol spits, holding the gun steady with the anger ripping, sparking through his body. Red clouds his vision, his judgment, and he’s not listening to any more of this. “You’d say anything with a gun pointed at you - “ 

“You said bruises, plural? I slapped him, sure, but I didn’t do anything more than that. I’m not a fucking idiot, showing up to work on Monday with a bruised aide and bandages on my hands. Don’t tell me you actually fell for it.” 

He shakes the doubt slowly creeping into his mind; he trusts Jeonghan. He has every reason to, doesn’t he? But Park’s a slimy politician; he made a deal with the biggest crime lord in Korea just to win a fucking election. No, Seungcheol shouldn’t listen to a goddamn word he says. “You’re disgusting,” he snaps as he cocks his gun. 

Now Park’s eyes turn desperate, wide. He puts his hands up as if Seungcheol has any qualms shooting an unarmed man. “He’s a fucking sociopath, Seungcheol, I swear to god. You’re gonna regret th - “ 

Seungcheol pulls the trigger, effectively silencing him with a well-aimed shot to the head. Park doesn’t make a sound and he’s dead before he hits his bed. 

The note is easy enough to write and Jihoon promises him they’ll be able to mess with the footage from Perdition, send it into the news stations anonymously. Without showing Jeonghan’s face, of course. As Seungcheol finishes the note, Jihoon and his boys clean up any traces of his presence, not that he left many to begin with; the gun is cleaned of fingerprints, left in Park’s cold grasp. 

There’s not a single bruise on his knuckles, no cuts, no swelling, nothing that would explain the state of Jeonghan’s body. 

It settles in Seungcheol’s mind like a bug as he drives home, burrows into his consciousness like a tick until he feels so itchy, so out of his head he can’t _stand_ it. 

When he gets home Jeonghan’s in the living room, sitting awkwardly on the couch as to not put pressure on his bruised up abdomen. Just like Seungcheol left him he’s in boxers and nothing else, and blinks up at him sleepily when he closes the door. 

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, groaning softly as he hoists himself up from the cushions. “I was worried sick, Cheollie - “ 

He doesn’t really think as he makes his way over to Jeonghan. He doesn’t really think as he presses his palm against a particularly mangled looking spot of purpled skin. 

All he can see are Park’s unmarked knuckles, in his mind’s eye. 

Jeonghan gasps sharply and smacks his hand away in the same instance. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he wheezes, and Seungcheol still can’t tell if he’s faking or not. “That _hurts,_ Seungcheol. Fuck.” 

If the bruises are real, where the hell did they come from? Did someone else give them to him? Or - fuck, did he give them to himself? 

“Park’s dead,” Seungcheol says, reaching towards him again. But this time he merely pulls him close with a gentler touch, noses his neck. Jeonghan smells like warmth and sleep, with notes of Seungcheol’s own cologne from when they snuggled earlier. It’s an intoxicating blend and he kisses the hollow of his throat. “They’ll rule it as a suicide.” 

He shakes his head, holding Seungcheol’s forearms again. But not as tightly, not as desperately. “No, I-I didn’t - you what? You killed him?” 

Seungcheol can’t make sense of the emotions running through him right not; he wants to punish Jeonghan for lying, for making him kill a rather innocent man. He wants to fuck him, to finally lay claim to what is his. But something deep down inside doesn’t want anything to do with him. It screams at him from behind the wall he’s built around it, telling him that Park was right, Seungcheol needs to just sever all ties between them, get the fuck out of here - 

“Yeah I killed him,” he murmurs into Jeonghan’s skin, and he’s not strong enough to leave. Not strong enough to confront Jeonghan and his demons, no matter the cost. “He hurt you, angel. I couldn’t let that go unpunished.” 

Jeonghan weaves slow, gentle fingers into his hair. “You… you did it for me?” 

It sounds so condescending in his sweet voice, a reminder that Seungcheol can’t say no to him. And he knows it will play in his mind over and over again, like the catchiest pop song on the radio. It will haunt him. “I would do anything for you, Hannie.” 

He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat and pulls away, his hand sliding down to stroke his cheek. His eyes are dark and lidded, reminding Seungcheol so much of Perdition Jeonghan. Looking at him with enough desire he could drown in it. “I want you, Seungcheol.” 

“You’re hurt,” but he pulls him closer nonetheless, reveling in how small Jeonghan feels against his body. 

“We’ll deal with that tomorrow,” and he already sounds breathless, wanting. “Just touch me, Cheollie. I need you.” 

How can he say no? 

They move to the bedroom, Seungcheol stripping his clothes off as they go, stopping every few steps to bite and kiss Jeonghan’s neck and shoulders. He knows he should be handling him with more care but something in him aches to bruise, too. Punish. Hold him down and have his way with him because Jeonghan’s been fucking with him for too long. Because he’s nobody’s lapdog; he answers to no one, and Jeonghan needs to be… made aware. 

Once they’re in the room, Seungcheol tugs Jeonghan’s boxers from his hips. He reaches out and takes his hot, half-hard cock in his hand, wrapping tight fingers around it as he strokes. 

“Ch-Cheollie,” Jeonghan whispers on a broken moan. “Baby, you’re - “ 

“Get on the bed,” he hisses. “Hands and knees.” 

He shakes his head, whining softly as Seungcheol thumbs his wet slit. “I wa - I wanted to be gentle - “ 

“You’ll get what I give you. Hands and knees, baby. I’m not gonna ask again.” 

Jeonghan does as he’s told and Seungcheol moves to the bedside table; there’s lube in the drawer, some condoms too. He takes the bottle out and looks at the foil packages for a few moments. 

“How did they fuck you?” he asks. “Park and Yang. Did they use condoms?” 

He takes a shaky breath as he gets into position. “Yes.” 

“What if I don’t, angel?” he murmurs, and their eyes meet. Jeonghan’s are soft, curious, dark with lust and something else Seungcheol can’t quite put his finger on. But he likes it. Likes the way Jeonghan looks at him. “You’re all mine now, aren’t you? Won’t let another man touch you, hmm?” 

Jeonghan moans softly, back arching. He drips some precum onto the sheets. “Hyung - “ 

He remembers Jeonghan calling Park that, remembers the way it took him apart, and Seungcheol hates it. It reminds him of his men too, of Wonwoo specifically - how they call him “hyung” when they’re worried about him. “No,” he snaps. “That’s what you called _him,_ isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he whispers, sounding so meek. 

“I don’t want to hear it, then.” 

Jeonghan nods, eyes darting towards him. “Please, I - I want you in me, Cheollie. _Please.”_

Truly, his submissiveness - the way he can just melt and mold himself in his lover’s hands - is a sight to behold. One Seungcheol will never get tired of, even it’s insincere. His cock twitches in his boxers, aching to be touched. “Condom or no condom, angel?” 

“No condom.” 

Seungcheol smirks to himself and closes the drawer, setting the half-empty bottle of lube on the bed. And then he finishes taking off his clothes. Part of him wants to go slow too, savor their first time together. But he can do that later. Right now he’s got too many emotions pulsing through his body and none of them call for something soft. No, they want rough and punitive, something that leaves them both aching and spent, trying to catch their breath. Something that fixes the power imbalance between them; he’s let Jeonghan get away with whatever he wants for so long now, but when it comes to sex Seungcheol’s in control. Always. 

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he says as he gets on the bed too, behind Jeonghan. With his legs spread like this he’s on display and Seungcheol reaches out to tease his dry fingertips over Jeonghan’s hot, puckered hole. 

He gasps softly, pressing back against his touch. Seungcheol smirks again, satisfaction settling hot and thick in his guts. “I know. J-Just fuck me, Cheollie. Please.” 

“Don’t call me that either.” He reaches for the bottle and uncaps it; Jeonghan jumps just the smallest bit at the sharp sound. “Not in bed.” 

“Why not?” 

He doesn’t know how to say it out loud. But he doesn’t want Jeonghan being informal with him like this. He wants him to submit fully and he can’t do that if he’s calling him “Cheollie”. “Do I have to explain myself, angel?” 

“N-no, sir.” 

_Fuck._ He moans openly at this, the way it makes his cock throb. Jeonghan is unreal, a gift from the gods. Or the devil. Seungcheol’s not sure. “That’s perfect, baby. Good. Now keep your legs spread for me.” 

Once again, he does as he’s told and Seungcheol drizzles a fair amount of lube onto his fingertips. The liquid is cold, almost freezing, dripping on his skin slow and thick; he presses his fingers against Jeonghan’s hole. He gasps once again, hips jolting forward, but Seungcheol holds him tight. 

“Keep still,” he hisses, dipping the tip of his finger inside him. “I won’t ask again.” 

“Yes s-sir.” 

Seungcheol groans and desire’s swimming so heavy through his body, all he can think about is being inside him, claiming him - he pushes two fingers in at once, all the way in. 

Jeonghan gasps, a choked, aching sound; slipping onto his elbows as his body convulses. 

Fuck, it’s gratifying in a way Seungcheol’s never known before. His sexual partners always submit to him, so easily it’s almost boring. But Jeonghan… after all the fights he’s put up, the chasing, the bargaining… well he’s surrendering so goddamn beautifully now. Like he was made for it. He takes Seungcheol’s fingers well too, so fucking warm… 

Seungcheol wants to get lost in him until he doesn’t know anything else except Jeonghan. 

He strokes inside him, curls his fingers against his prostate, relishing the way Jeonghan arches and moans and bucks his hips. He looks so damn good coming apart like this, just from Seungcheol’s fingers too. Better than he ever could’ve imagined. 

“Do you like it when it hurts, angel?” he murmurs, pressing down on his prostate with insistent fingers that leave Jeonghan whining. “You like when it’s quick and rough, don’t you?” 

“Please,” he breathes, “just fuck me.” 

He doesn’t have to be told twice; two fingers are gonna have to be enough. After withdrawing them (and melting in the wrecked moan Jeonghan makes) he lubes up his cock. Just the touch of his own hand sends sparks up his spine and he’s so goddamn wound up, starved, craving. Ever since the kiss they shared in Perdition, Seungcheol’s only touched one person - Kiyoshi. Even then it was just once. And he’d pictured Jeonghan the entire time. It’s been _weeks_ of celibacy that, in the grand scheme of things, were surprisingly easy. Because now they were paying off, quite deliciously. 

Breathing in deeply, Seungcheol aligns himself with Jeonghan’s hole. In the back of his mind, he knows he ought to continue prepping him. They need to keep it slow so that Jeonghan doesn’t wind up hurt - more than he already is. But the moment Seungcheol pictures the bruises on his abdomen, the moment he thinks about Park and his words and his blood staining the pristinely white bedsheets - 

He pushes inside Jeonghan with a hard, rough grip on his hips - pushes in until he bottoms out, fighting against the resistance from Jeonghan’s stiff, tense body - he’s so fucking warm, so tight, fuck he feels so good - 

Jeonghan cries out, arching away from Seungcheol once more but he holds him in place. Again. 

For a moment, they stay like this. Jeonghan’s back is taut, muscles firm beneath his soft skin as he braces himself on his knees and elbows. He breathes heavily, shakily and for a moment, the part of Seungcheol that cares for him feels bad. They definitely should’ve prepped more, Jeonghan wasn’t ready; he’s been through enough today. 

It’s the part of him that lives in denial - the part of him that believes Jeonghan no matter what, that only sees good in him - and tonight, Seungcheol wants to push that away. Tomorrow he’ll revert back to it, revert back to worshipping Jeonghan the way he deserves; blindly, obediently. But for now, they both need to be punished. Jeonghan for lying, for using him, and Seungcheol for trusting him. For letting Jeonghan get to him the way he had. 

So he sets a rough, unforgiving rhythm with his thrusts. Holds Jeonghan up by his hips when his arms fail him and he buries his face in the pillows. Utters dirty words that border on cruel and torturous but Jeonghan responds to them nonetheless, with breathless gasps and whines that make Seungcheol’s own hips stutter. Already he’s so close, that white-hot knot in the pit of his body threatening to snap. He can’t help it; Jeonghan is utterly perfect. He comes undone so well, so easily, so exquisitely, taking everything Seungcheol gives him like he was created for this sole purpose. 

Seungcheol feels the same; he is meant for nothing else in life than this - fucking a divinely unholy creature such as Yoon Jeonghan, losing himself to the heat of his body, the heady push and pull, the violent desire pulsing through his own veins. It sustains him. It consumes him. It breathes life into his lungs and then tears it away just as quickly. He is a slave to it, his throaty moans mixing with Jeonghan’s desperate sounds as he climbs higher and higher - he feels alive and lifeless, holy and sinful, whole and broken - 

The lust sparking fires in his body proves too much; he collapses on top of Jeonghan, caging his body between the mattress and his own, holding him down as Seungcheol chases his orgasm through increasingly sloppy thrusts. 

“You close, angel?” he grunts, wrapping a hand that could be gentler around his throat, tilting his head up. 

A few tears drip from Jeonghan’s chin, his jaw, joining the dampness on the pillow beneath him, and he manages a hand up to hold Seungcheol’s forearm. His grip is weak, trembling; his body spasms. “Se-Seungcheol - “ 

“That’s it, baby,” and he’s moaning right into Jeonghan’s ear, every inch of their bodies pressed together, “come for me. Come for me, Jeonghan.” 

Seungcheol doesn’t even have to sneak a hand to his cock; Jeonghan orgasms untouched, spilling onto the sheets as Seungcheol’s hips stutter - the heat in his body builds to a fever pitch, he is without thought, without breath, without control as his body shudders, tightening, as Jeonghan cries out sharply - 

He comes with a rough noise that sounds too desperate to truly belong to him, spilling deep inside Jeonghan. Everything else is muted as he gives in to desire; he does not know anything except Jeonghan. Beneath him, Jeonghan is bright, electrified. He burns hotter than any fire and Seungcheol would let himself be scorched by him; consumed and seared to the bone, until there was nothing left. 

Willingly. 

When he pulls out they are both limp and drained; Seungcheol draws him close. Wipes the tears from his cheeks, thumbs away the blood from his bitten lip, brushes damp hair off his sweaty forehead. 

Jeonghan gives him an exhausted smile that makes his eyes shine. 

Seungcheol’s heart constricts, twisting in on itself, and it _hurts._ “You’re so beautiful, angel,” he whispers. 

Any anger, any lingering feelings of resentment or betrayal are all gone; spent haphazardly in the name of passion. Now all Seungcheol wants to do is soothe. 

He forces himself from the bed and scoops Jeonghan’s damp, heavy body into his arms. Cooing kisses onto the crown of his head, he finds the bathroom and gently sets him down in the tub. Hot water comes next and Seungcheol sits behind him, letting Jeonghan rest against him as the tub fills up. A loofah and a fancy-looking bottle of body wash, both within reach, catch his eye and Seungcheol grabs them. He slowly cleans the cum from Jeonghan’s bruised stomach, whispering soft words of praise into his ear. Just like he did with the dirty phrases that came tumbling from Seungcheol’s lips a few minutes ago, Jeonghan arches at these too. He whines and tries to pry the loofah from Seungcheol’s fingers, tries to guide his hand towards his cock. 

_“I wanted to be gentle.”_

His voice echoes through Seungcheol’s fuzzy mind and he presses soft kisses along Jeonghan’s neck, refusing to touch him the way he wants. “Shh, angel. Not right now. You’ve been through so much tonight.” 

Jeonghan breathes shakily. “You - you were so rough…” 

“I know,” he whispers, and guilt settles in his heart like a stone in a river. “Did I hurt you?” 

“A - a little bit, but I liked it.” When he’s clean, he reaches for Seungcheol’s hands once again and wraps them around him, nuzzling into him. “Are you still mad at me?” 

“No.” He means it; the words come out vehement and firm. “No, baby. I’m not mad anymore.” 

Another trembling breath brushes Seungcheol’s skin. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Cheollie. Ever.” 

Doubt creeps into his mind once more, but he doesn’t have the strength to point out that he didn’t bring up anything about lying. Never even insinuated that Jeonghan was anything but truthful with him. “I know, angel. I trust you.” 

They stay like this until the water is cold and then Seungcheol helps him out. Brushes his hair. Carries him to bed and dusts his skin with kisses. 

He fucks Jeonghan like he hates him and cares for him like he loves him. 

In the morning he wakes up to a million calls from Wonwoo asking what the fuck happened to Park and half as many texts from Kiyoshi asking if he’s okay. 

Jeonghan’s pressed against him, deep asleep. He’s warm and naked and everything Seungcheol’s ever wanted to wake up to. 

They fuck again before Seungcheol gets up to leave, softer this time. Jeonghan begs him to stay afterwards, stars in his wide eyes and bruises all over his body - most from Park, some from Seungcheol. And he _wants_ to, wants to give Jeonghan everything he asks for without a second thought. So he turns his phone off and climbs back into bed, burying himself in the heaven that is Yoon Jeonghan.

It’s like a switch has been flicked; after that, he and Jeonghan can’t get enough of each other. With Park’s death Jeonghan is freed from his role as aide and all but drops off the face of the political earth. His nights are spent in Seungcheol’s bed in Gangnam-gu, crying out to the heavens as Seungcheol fucks him again, and again, and again; his days are spent in Seungcheol’s office, lounging in shirts and boxers he’s stolen from the apartment - and nothing else. He dozes on the couch tucked against the back wall or on Seungcheol’s lap while he warms his cock. He chimes in from time to time with his political know-how (his bachelor’s degree in political science and international affairs from Yonsei, paid for by his parents, comes in handy often), eyes shining with an intelligent sort of glee that leaves Seungcheol in awe. 

And the amount of times Wonwoo (and others) have walked into the room unannounced only to duck back out and slam the door behind them are plenty, and amusing. 

Seungcheol doesn’t care who sees them; he doesn’t care who sees Jeonghan’s arms bound with the shirt he’d taken that morning, body arching spectacularly as he rides Seungcheol’s cock. Doesn’t care who sees him fucking Jeonghan into the desk. And neither does Jeonghan. In fact, he welcomes it. Makes a show of sucking Seungcheol’s cock when Wonwoo comes in to deliver news and messages. 

It’s fucking _glorious._

He’s never had a lover like Jeonghan before, someone who’s as equally as possessive as he is. They are alike in so many ways and yet Jeonghan still manages to challenge him, inside the bedroom and out. He fights tooth and nail until his opinions are accepted; he pushes the boundaries Seungcheol sets during sex until they descend on each other, ravenous and insatiable. 

By the time Seungcheol goes home to Kiyoshi around dinner, he’s exhausted. He spends a few hours with his husband every day, pretending like he doesn’t leave until Kiyoshi’s dead asleep. 

He knows Kiyoshi pretends he’s a heavy sleeper, too. 

Truly, Seungcheol needs to be more careful. Kiyoshi is hardly stupid - in fact, his wit and intelligence are what attracted Seungcheol to him in the beginning - and he must be all but certain that Seungcheol is unfaithful. The signs are there; it would take a fool to not see them. And if his father finds out… Seungcheol is, quite literally, dead. 

Sometimes, while Jeonghan sleeps beside him, Seungcheol thinks about his wedding day. His own father, months before his death, telling Seungcheol not to fuck it up. As if he hadn’t said that every damn day after they sealed the deal - twenty four year old Seungcheol had been sick of hearing it. He thinks about Ito Daichi, in all his fatal glory, dressed in black to witness his son’s marriage. Pulling Seungcheol aside and telling him in barely accented Korean to watch himself. That if he hurt Kiyoshi in any way, there would be hell to pay. Like he knew. He thinks about Kiyoshi looking so handsome in his suit, hair still black and hardly reaching past his ears then. 

He thinks about the joy that surged through his body when he kissed Kiyoshi that day. They’d laughed and teased each other, as in love as they ever were. As they could be. 

And then life broke them both. 

Two months into this affair with Jeonghan, Yang contacts him. Spouts some bullshit, really; he’s decided the deal isn’t actually to his liking, he’d like to meet again and renegotiate. 

Seungcheol doesn’t have a goddamn choice. 

They set another date and time for Perdition. 

Jeonghan wants to be there. Dressed in a black lace top that shows off too much skin, black pants that hug his legs too closely; he’s been growing his hair out and it touches his shoulders now, framing his face so perfectly… There’s no way Seungcheol’s letting him go. No, because Yang will want to fuck him again. And Jeonghan’s so flirty he’d let him. 

He brings it up as Jeonghan’s putting makeup on, carefully applying bright crimson lipstick. The same shade Seungcheol fell in love with when they met. 

As soon as the words leave his lips - “I don’t want you there” - Jeonghan stops. Freezes. But he doesn’t face Seungcheol; he keeps looking in the mirror. 

“What?” he says, as if giving Seungcheol a chance to rephrase, or abandon his current train of thought. 

But he keeps going, coming up behind Jeonghan to hold him. Like that would soften the blow. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, angel. With Yang there, well… I don’t want what happened last time - “ 

“Then tell me that, Seungcheol.” He recaps the lipstick and meets Seungcheol’s gaze in the mirror. As always he’s so breathtaking and Seungcheol only wants him for himself. “I’m not gonna fuck him if you don’t want me to. What, you don’t trust me?” 

He sighs heavily, sweeping Jeonghan’s hair off his neck to kiss the exposed skin. “Of course I do.” 

“And don’t you like having me near? Besides, once you’re done with him we can dance.” 

Seungcheol’s lost this battle, he knows; he turns Jeonghan around for a rough kiss that smudges his perfect red lips as he accepts his defeat. 

Yang can’t take his eyes off of Jeonghan when he arrives; unlike last time Jeonghan chooses to sit on Seungcheol’s lap for the entirety of the meeting and he commands attention every time he leans in to kiss Seungcheol’s neck. Seungcheol watches with satisfaction that borders on jealousy as Yang’s eyes follow every single one of his movements. Sucking at the juncture of Seungcheol’s jaw, tongue tracing the shell of his ear, teeth nipping at his pulse point. Hands sliding into his hair, down his chest, skimming his abdomen and slowly tenting pants. 

Yang is entranced, just like he was last time. 

Junhui’s amused as ever. 

And Wonwoo looks elsewhere. Not once does he look at Seungcheol. 

They try their best to talk and Seungcheol’s actually proud of himself for being able to form coherent sentences with Jeonghan touching him like this. Then his hands on Seungcheol’s clothed cock become insistent; his purr of “want you in my mouth, sir,” is heard by all. 

Yang shifts, and Seungcheol wonders how far along his own erection is. 

“Under the table, baby,” Seungcheol murmurs to Jeonghan. “Mm, but don’t make me come. I have work to do.” 

Jeonghan does as he’s told, sliding onto his knees as best as he can with a table mere centimeters from the top of his head. 

Seungcheol continues speaking, addressing Yang directly through the moan that escapes his lips the moment Jeonghan wraps cool, thin fingers around his naked cock. 

As it turns out, Yang isn’t so thrilled with his side of the deal. Apparently having some time to think away from his Jeonghan-induced haze made him realize that it didn’t really benefit him. Honestly, Seungcheol assumed he would figure it out sooner or later; Yang is hardly stupid. So, he’s willing to compromise a little more fairly. They come to agreements with the profits, territories, and methods of transportation. Yang even permits monthly inspections of his facilities. All of this, they discuss with Jeonghan’s nose full of Seungcheol’s pubic hair; with Jeonghan taking his cock as deep as he can and then slowly pulling off. 

To his credit, he’s being quiet; Wonwoo can finally stand to look at Seungcheol now. Though his eyes are still sharp and judgmental, tinged with distaste. 

Yang’s, however, glitter with a morbid sort of delight as he leans forward across the table. “I have another stipulation, Choi.” He slurs a bit, several drinks deep at this point. 

Seungcheol sighs heavily, trying not to focus on the way Jeonghan tongues his slit, licking up the precum he’s no doubt dripping. Pleasure swirls hot and heady in his body. “What is it?” 

“I want,” he smirks, “your little slut under the table, again.” 

Jeonghan stops immediately, pulling away from his cock. 

Seungcheol reaches out to him, blindly. Slides his fingers into soft hair, soothing as he cups Jeonghan’s face. But the rest of him starts to thrum in anger, especially when Yang smiles at him. Like he’d asked for a sip of his drink, not to fuck his lover. Like he hadn’t just _insulted_ him. “Excuse me?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

Yang chuckles softly. “You heard me. He and I… had a lot of fun last time, and if you want us to seal this deal, Choi, you’ll hand him over.” 

Wonwoo and Junhui both sit still as air, eyes flicking towards Seungcheol at nearly the same time. 

Jeonghan breathes in and then out; the warmth of it tickles Seungcheol’s wrist. 

“He’s not a bargaining chip,” Seungcheol snaps, and the glee on Yang’s face does not dissipate. It only makes him angrier; with his free hand he grips the edge of the cushioned bench until his fingers start to ache. “I let you fuck him once but that was it; _once.”_

“Come on, Seungcheol,” Yang says. “You’d really give this deal up over a whore like him?” 

Jeonghan’s shaky exhale touches Seungcheol’s wrist again. 

And he’s had _enough._ “He’s not a - “ 

“Stop.” 

Jeonghan’s voice, hoarse and throaty, rises up from under the table. With trembling hands he zips Seungcheol up and then slides back onto the bench. He ignores everyone’s gazes as he fixes his hair and breathes slowly, deeply. When he meets Yang’s gaze, his face is set grimly. 

Seungcheol doesn’t like it. 

“You’re right,” he says evenly, placing a calm hand on Seungcheol’s thigh. “Seungcheol would be an idiot to pass this up, just for me. He agrees. I’m yours for the night, Xinyi.” 

Seungcheol opens his mouth to disagree emphatically - but Jeonghan squeezes his thigh hard. Blunt nails digging into the fabric of his pants. It shuts him up. 

Yang’s smirk only widens and he glances at Seungcheol. “You let your little whore talk for you now?” 

Jeonghan’s expression hardly changes but his fingers flex against Seungcheol’s thigh, squeezing harder. 

So Seungcheol reaches for them, rubs his thumb against his knuckles to calm him down. “Fine, Yang,” he huffs, deciding to trust Jeonghan. “He’s yours tonight. But you have to stay here, in one of the back rooms. Do we have a deal, finally?” 

“We do, indeed.” 

Once Jeonghan disappears into a private room, Yang’s hand on his ass, Seungcheol’s anxiety spikes. He doesn’t touch his drink the way Junhui suggests; instead he just stares at the door they went behind, seething. What the fuck does Jeonghan think he’s doing? _“I’m not gonna fuck him if you don’t want me to.”_ Bullshit. 

“If you didn’t want this, hyung,” Junhui says softly, “why’d you let it happen?” 

Good fucking question. Why didn’t he stop Jeonghan? Why didn’t he speak up, say something? Instead he’s sitting here like a fool, waiting while a Chinese drug runner fucks his boyfriend in the back room of his club. 

“At least we finally have the deal,” Wonwoo points out, as if that matters right now. 

Seungcheol chuckles humorlessly, looking at him. “Yang reneged once. What’s to stop him from doing it again? No, this was a goddamn power play and I fell for it.” 

Wonwoo sighs, glancing away. The muscles in his jaw flex and twitch beneath the skin, like he’s gritting his teeth. “I don’t like it either, hyung. It feels… odd.” 

“He’s not gonna hurt him,” Junhui says. “Trust me, he’s not that - “ 

“Not him,” Wonwoo snaps, and his dark eyes find Seungcheol again. “Jeonghan.” 

It takes a moment for Seungcheol’s anger-soaked brain to work properly; but when it does he can’t believe the goddamn insinuation - “What the fuck are you trying to say, Wonwoo?” he asks, attempting to keep his tone as calm as possible. His voice comes out cold and strained. 

“I’m saying that I don’t trust him,” Wonwoo bites out. “You’re not thinking straight, hyung. You’re - I mean, you killed Assemblyman Park? Why?” 

“I told you,” he hisses through clenched teeth, hand balling into a fist on the table. “He fucked things up - “ 

“You mean he was standing in the way of you fucking Jeonghan - “ 

Seungcheol stands up and just walks away before the desire to hurt, to fight takes over him and he does or says something he’ll regret. Even if Wonwoo deserves it. 

Does he? 

Maybe he’s right. Maybe the reason why Seungcheol jumped at the chance to kill Park was because he just wanted Jeonghan. The evidence - that Park hurt Jeonghan - wasn’t there. In the face of everything Park maintained his innocence. He warned Seungcheol. 

And Seungcheol had killed him. 

But he trusted Jeonghan. 

Yes, he killed Park because he trusted Jeonghan. Wonwoo doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. He’s just – well, he hates Jeonghan. Of course he would doubt him. 

Seungcheol settles at the bar, not speaking a single word to Soonyoung as he pushes a glass of vodka towards him. He knocks it back, and the warmth, the burning of the alcohol isn’t enough to distract him. But it’s a start. 

The crowd feels different tonight. It’s a Saturday but for some reason everyone feels on edge. Or maybe Seungcheol’s just projecting. Or there’s something in the air everyone latches onto; something dark and foreboding that no one wants to address. Seungcheol definitely feels it, sliding down his throat and into the pit of his stomach, guided by the alcohol. 

He can’t look away from the door Yang’s hiding Jeonghan behind. 

Half an hour goes by and it feels like a lifetime. 

Seungcheol sits like a broken man at the bar (he and Jeonghan share a silent glance when he comes out, hair and clothes mussed, to grab some drinks for him and Yang), and he can’t help but wonder if he should just go home. Save himself the embarrassment of escorting his lover from the club after he was fucked by another man. Wonwoo or Junhui could get him home, couldn’t they? 

Distantly, a door bangs open, slamming against the wall in a thud muted beneath throbbing bass. 

But Seungcheol hears it. He turns towards it. 

His eyes meet Jeonghan’s - wide, wet, scared. 

He can’t move fast enough, shoving through the sea of bodies that separates them, anxiety slowing his movements - 

And then Jeonghan’s in his arms, shaking and sobbing and trying to speak but he can’t, he’s crying so hard. Naked from the waist down, save for his underwear, shirt unbuttoned and hickeys on his neck, Seungcheol fears the worst. 

Without hesitation, he will put Yang Xinyi down, if he’s hurt Jeonghan. 

Through Jeonghan’s sobs, he’s able to make out a single word and it instills so much dread, paralyzing and fearsome, in his mind. 

_“Dead.”_

He looks up from the crook of Jeonghan’s neck and behind him, through the wide-open door. On the floor, limp, not even fucking breathing, lays Yang Xinyi. 

Jeonghan doesn’t speak on the ride home. He just sits in the passenger seat, curled up under Seungcheol’s jacket, staring out the window. And Seungcheol doesn’t say a word either. What _is_ there to say? The man Seungcheol was doing business with - the man who insulted Jeonghan, demanded sex from him - is dead now. In the back room of one of Seungcheol’s clubs. With Jeonghan as the only witness - 

He banishes the thoughts from his mind, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles. 

No cops were called and Perdition had been closed early. As far as they know no one outside of the organization saw anything. And if they did they’d be stupid to say something about it. Yang’s men are taking his body home, Junhui said his second in command isn’t necessarily upset about it (of course he’s not; with Yang gone, he’s in charge now). Apparently the cause they’re operating under is something Jeonghan managed to stutter out, clinging to Seungcheol with tense hands, face buried in his neck, tears in his throat - 

Too much alcohol mixed with too much cocaine. 

Seungcheol had seen the remaining lines on the table in the room, the white power underneath Yang’s nose - Jeonghan’s too. The way Jeonghan looked up at him with pleading eyes - “he made me do it, Cheollie, I - I… he was doing so much of it, I don’t - and he just… he fell over. S-stopped breathing…” 

Wonwoo’s eyes were sharp and judgmental. So were Yang’s men. Even Junhui didn’t seem to believe him. 

But Seungcheol did. Does. 

Even if Jeonghan’s not acting high in the slightest. 

Seungcheol sighs, once again forcing the thoughts from his mind. Jeonghan went through something incredibly traumatic, watching someone die in front of him. It probably sobered him up. But really – it doesn’t fucking matter. It shouldn’t even be on Seungcheol’s radar, and it’s _not._

Jeonghan’s hand finds his resting between them, on the console. His fingers are so cold, stroking over Seungcheol’s knuckles, sliding between his own. 

“I didn’t kill him,” he whispers. “I know they all think I did but I - “ 

“Baby, I know,” Seungcheol murmurs. He glances at Jeonghan, so small and broken curled up under his jacket, and brings his hand up to kiss it. “I believe you.” 

He takes a deep breath. “You’d protect me no matter what, right Seungcheol? If they come for me, if they try to pin this on me - “ 

“Jeonghan, stop. Angel, I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I’ll always protect you. You know that.” 

He nods. 

Seungcheol kisses his hand again, brushing his lips along Jeonghan’s knuckles, his fingertips. “And they won’t pin this on you. I’ll make sure of it. Understood?” 

He nods quietly, squeezing Seungcheol’s hand, moonlight shining in his eyes. 

Yang’s men don’t look for blood but they at least want someone to blame. Seungcheol agrees, to save face, and he has his own men pull the footage from Perdition’s CCTV. He watches it first, alone. Sitting next to Jeonghan asleep in his bed, one hand in his hair, he watches. 

The moment he and Yang walk into the room, Yang’s all over him. Kissing him, tugging at his clothes, fingers running through his hair. Seungcheol’s free hand balls into a fist against the edge of the laptop, especially when he notices Jeonghan’s shaking hands. Fuck, why didn’t Seungcheol _do_ anything? 

Onscreen, Yang reaches into his coat pocket, producing the cocaine that would be the death of him. And then Jeonghan leaves the room, no doubt to grab the drinks. So Yang gets busy, setting up as he waits for Jeonghan. When he returns, cups in one hand and a bottle of soju in the other, they share a rough kiss. Jeonghan’s lipstick was already smudged off, from all the kissing (dick sucking) he’d done with Seungcheol but with Yang, it makes him look sad. Scared. 

He brings the drinks to the table opposite the camera, back to it. Hands moving quickly, he pours the soju. 

And stands there for a moment. 

Seungcheol leans towards the screen, squinting to make out – anything. But if Jeonghan moves, it’s imperceptible. 

Not enough to condemn him. 

He hands Yang’s drink to him with a seductive smile. 

Yang kisses him again. 

And thus the footage goes: Yang doing lines, drinking half the bottle in, what, half an hour? Kissing, touching, undressing Jeonghan. His movements are increasingly slowing, heavy – until they slow altogether. He falls. Stops breathing. 

Just like Jeonghan said. 

Yang’s men accept the footage. The new guy in charge watches with disdain on his face, frowning when he closes the laptop. But despite Yang’s death, their deal is still finalized, still happening; or so new guys says with a soft look on his face. He even tells Seungcheol to pass on his apologies to Jeonghan. 

The apartment in Gangnam-gu becomes Jeonghan’s. Maybe a week after Yang, he moves in officially because it’s easier to keep eyes on him here. Seungcheol likes it, too. The apartment feels like a home with Jeonghan’s things. 

_Their_ home. 

Seungcheol holds him tight after sex every night, stroking his hands across skin he just finished rubbing lotion into, skin he just spent what felt like hours worshipping, bruising, marking. And he murmurs sweet nothings into Jeonghan’s ear. 

_“You’re so beautiful.”_

_“I never want to leave.”_

_“I wish it could just be us. No gang, no - no Kiyoshi. Just you and me.”_

_“I love you, Jeonghan."_

The last one surprises them both, whispered like a desperate prayer as they fuck, both of them on their knees with Jeonghan’s slender back against his chest. But Jeonghan whispers it too, arching his body as Seungcheol takes hold of his cock with reverent fingers. 

Seungcheol sees his husband maybe two times a week for - for months. Three, he thinks, but it’s so hard to keep track. Eventually it leads to Kiyoshi demanding he spend time with him. And that leads to a half-heartedly organized date night at home, for Kiyoshi’s birthday. Something easy, the way Kiyoshi likes. Because after growing up with a crime lord for a father; after being married to one for over ten years; after turning thirty-three, he’s tired of it all. 

When Seungcheol tells Jeonghan, Jeonghan is… less than thrilled. 

“But you’re mine,” he whispers, kissing Seungcheol’s neck slowly. “I thought you said you didn’t love him.” 

He doesn’t, not like he loves Jeonghan. But… “He’s still my husband, baby; it’s his birthday. And you know what happens if he - if he finds out I’m cheating. It’s just one night, angel.” 

His eyes widen, turning big and sad the way they do when he wants to get his way. But Seungcheol doesn’t give in and leaves Jeonghan angry and pouting. It breaks his damn heart, really. 

When he arrives at home, Kiyoshi’s favorite takeout on the counter, he greets his husband with a slow kiss. Which Kiyoshi immediately deepens, tongue sliding over his. His hands are everywhere, trying to get Seungcheol out of his suit, trying to touch him… trying to elicit a response from him. 

But Kiyoshi isn’t who his body wants. 

“Ki,” he murmurs, sighing at the hope, the love, the _happiness_ shining in his husband’s eyes. It makes him want to cry. “Baby, not yet. Let’s eat first.” 

He shakes his head, tilting it up to rest it against Seungcheol’s. “I’m not hungry. I want you, Seungcheol. It feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks.” His hands slide down his front to his pants, teasing over his belt. “Touch me. It’s been so long…” 

Seungcheol does. Guilt eating away at his heart and his soul and his mind, he touches Kiyoshi. Spreads him out on their bed - a bed that feels so strange to him now - and makes love to him. He’s not rough and punishing like he is with Jeonghan; he treats Kiyoshi with so much kindness. He’s gentle, praising, sweet, as if a single harsh touch or coarse word will break him. And Kiyoshi opens up for him, clinging to him with beautiful, slender hands, saying his name over and over again. 

They clean each other up when they finish, sharing soft kisses every so often, and then they pad out to the kitchen - Kiyoshi in his white, satin robe, Seungcheol in nothing but boxers - and they heat up the take out. 

Kiyoshi rests against him while they wait, talking quietly about his day, reaching up to wind slow fingers through Seungcheol’s hair. The domesticity of it all, the intimacy they share makes his heart ache. He and Jeonghan don’t have this. They don’t have almost fifteen years of knowing each other; from a passionate love affair when Kiyoshi was eighteen and Seungcheol twenty-two that was so Romeo and Juliet the only thing it lacked was the double suicides, to a marriage thrust upon them by their parents because it was the perfect way to unite their fathers’ organizations, to a decades’ worth of memories. 

Seungcheol knows everything about Kiyoshi. He knows that he only drinks coffee when he needs it; he knows that he wanted to be a dancer or a soccer player growing up; he wears earrings with every outfit because he likes the way they look. He knows that Kiyoshi hates sushi and drinks vegetable juice religiously and loves shitty old sci-fi movies. He knows the way he looks first thing in the morning, what he looks like with his hair long and frazzled and in between dye jobs. 

He knows the way Kiyoshi loves, purely and wholly, even when it’s undeserved. 

They talk while they eat, about things Seungcheol thought he’d forgotten. More than once, Kiyoshi pulls a laugh from his throat and Seungcheol falls in love with his smile all over again, the way he did fifteen years ago. 

There’s a knock on the door halfway through their meal and Kiyoshi stands up to get it. 

“You’re really gonna open the door in nothing but your robe and underwear?” Seungcheol asks around a grin. 

Kiyoshi just throws a flirty look over his shoulder before disappearing into the entryway. 

From the living room, Seungcheol can’t see who’s at the door. But in the silence he can make out a voice. It’s familiar, throaty, low, and beautiful, asking for Seungcheol. 

He gets up and walks towards the entryway to find Jeonghan standing in the open doorway, in front of Kiyoshi. There’s a smirk on his lips that only widens when he sees Seungcheol, and it sends a hot chill of anger through his body. 

How dare he. 

“Who’s this, Cheol?” Kiyoshi asks with a soft smile, wrapping a slender arm around his waist when he joins them. “I thought I knew everyone in the organization.” 

“Jeonghan’s… new,” Seungcheol says and he hears the strain in his voice. 

Kiyoshi’s brow furrows. “Jeonghan… Jeongh - oh! The same Jeonghan who was Assemblyman Park’s aide?” 

Jeonghan licks his lips, glancing at Seungcheol for the briefest of seconds. “That’s me, Mr. Choi.” 

Kiyoshi’s laugh is soft and innocent. “Seungcheol wishes I took his name. No, I still have my family name, Ito. But please call me Kiyoshi, Jeonghan. It’s lovely to meet you. And I’m…” His voice drops into something gentler. “I’m sorry about the assemblyman. The shit he was doing? Disgusting. I assume you were close with him, being his aide?” 

“You could say that.” 

Kiyoshi sighs, leaning against Seungcheol. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found a place with us.” 

“I am too,” Jeonghan says, once more looking at Seungcheol. He doesn’t even try to mask the lust in his eyes, the jealousy tugging at his features. 

And Seungcheol’s had enough. He pulls away from Kiyoshi’s grasp after kissing his forehead. “Give me a minute, love? Jeonghan and I have something to discuss. But I promise we’ll be quick - “ 

“Oh no, take your time,” Kiyoshi smiles. “I’m gonna go start a bath. You’ll join me when you’re done?” 

“Of course, Ki.” 

He watches his husband walk away, feeling Jeonghan’s eyes on him. And once Kiyoshi’s far enough away, Seungcheol turns back to Jeonghan. Closes the door and shoves him up against it. 

Jeonghan’s eyes widen in surprise - and then darken with lust. 

Seungcheol hates it. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hisses, holding Jeonghan in place with rough, firm hands. “You know you’re not supposed to - “ 

“I needed to see you, Cheollie,” he whispers with that lilt to his voice, the innocent one Seungcheol can never say no to. It strips at his resolve, wearing him down little by little. “I know what you said but I missed you, baby.” He giggles softly, reaching up to pry Seungcheol’s hands from his shoulder. He guides them where he wants; one to the small of his back and the other sliding over his pants; he moans and Seungcheol can’t help but touch him. Fuck, he’s so weak. “He has no idea - “ 

“He will if he comes back out here and sees us like this.” 

Jeonghan grins wickedly - and then it morphs into something tight with pleasure as Seungcheol rubs his hardening cock through the fabric of his pants. _Fuck._ “I don’t care, Cheollie, I - “ 

“Yeah? Well you should because his father would have us _both_ killed.” With that, he uses up the last of his self-control and pulls away. “You need to leave, Jeonghan. Now.” 

“Why?” There’s fire in his eyes now, an indignant blaze that would burn him if he let it. “You love me, Seungcheol. Not him. You - you keep saying that you want it to just be us, that you want - “ 

“I know what I said,” he snarls, “but you can’t show up here. Don’t you get it, Jeonghan? If Kiyoshi finds out he tells his father. And if his father finds out we’re both fucking dead - “ 

“You’re the most powerful man in Korea!” he shoots back. “You’re afraid of some old Japanese gangster?” A scoff escapes his lips, dark and cruel. “We’re in _love._ Leave him, Seungcheol. I’m the one you should be with, for real - “ 

He can’t believe the words tumbling out of Jeonghan’s mouth, the desperate look in his eyes. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. And you need to leave.” 

His entire demeanor changes; he’s not tense and thrumming with anger. No, he looks soft now. Delectable as he pulls Seungcheol in with arms around his neck, and Seungcheol can’t resist. “You know I’m right,” he whispers, stroking the side of Seungcheol’s face, fingertips dancing across his lips. His touch is gentle but stilted. Like a warning. “And when you’re done with him you’re gonna come home to me. Where you belong. Because you’re _mine.”_

Seungcheol crushes Jeonghan against him, capturing his mouth in a rough kiss. He feels drunk, drunk on the heady mix of desire and anger in his system right now; it’s always there when he kisses Jeonghan. Simultaneously he can’t get enough of it and never wants to feel it again. It’s poisoning him, he knows, driving him mad. But he can’t say _no._ It’s the worst kind of drug, the worst kind of addiction; he knows he’s hooked, he knows he’s dependent - but he doesn’t know how to quit. Doesn’t know how to find help. 

Even if he wanted to. 

When Jeonghan breaks their kiss to catch his breath, Seungcheol moves to his throat. Sinks his teeth into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. He’s driven purely by emotion and the desire to punish Jeonghan and himself. 

He breaks skin. 

The taste of blood touches his tongue, warm and coppery, and he lifts his head to meet Jeonghan’s gaze. 

“Leave,” he says hoarsely, emotions he can’t name clogging up his throat as Jeonghan reaches towards his mouth. “Now.” 

He swipes his thumb across Seungcheol’s lips, catching a few droplets of his own blood. And for a moment he just stares at them, as a small pool of crimson forms on his shoulder. 

Like rain on a window, some of it rolls down Jeonghan’s skin. It stains his white shirt. 

He looks up at Seungcheol - and opens the door. Leaves without another word. 

Seungcheol leans back against the wall with a heavy sigh, the taste of Jeonghan’s blood still on his tongue, feeling absolutely, completely drained. 

As the weeks go on, as the weather turns colder, so do they. 

Seungcheol can’t explain it or maybe he doesn’t want to, but after Jeonghan’s little visit everything shifts. 

Just as easily as they’d fallen into a routine of lust and infatuation after Park, now it all seems on the opposite side of the spectrum. The love Seungcheol has for Jeonghan burns bright like hatred, blurring the lines until he doesn’t know what to do, what to think. All he knows is that nothing he does is punishment enough for Jeonghan and his sins. 

He can’t remember the last time he touched Jeonghan tenderly; every time they have sex now it ends up rough. Punishing. Bordering on violent. 

Seungcheol can’t help it; they’ve always been intense when they fuck but now he uses it an excuse to be _cruel._ Jeonghan lets him. Like he knows he did wrong; like he seeks redemption while Seungcheol seeks punishment. 

It’s sick in such an addicting way. 

He still fucks him like he hates him – but the aftercare all but stops. The desire to soothe and comfort are muted sparks now, only catching fire in their most vulnerable moments. He looks at Jeonghan, bruised and bleeding beneath him, and he doesn’t _want_ to care for him, about him. 

But Jeonghan forces it from him. 

Maybe three weeks after he showed up at the apartment, Jeonghan brings a knife to bed. It’s a decent-sized pocketknife he probably bought online, sharp and icy. Not at all something used during sex (Seungcheol would know; he’s engaged in knifeplay before). But no matter how much Seungcheol tries to explain that, Jeonghan’s insistent. 

“I like it when you make me bleed,” he whispers as demurely as he can, as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to say to your lover. 

(It makes Seungcheol shiver in ways he can’t put his finger on.) 

But he gives in nonetheless, carefully, methodically making little cuts in Jeonghan’s naked skin as foreplay. His collarbones, chest, abdomen, hips, the insides of his thighs… By the time he’s finished Jeonghan is shaking, precum dripping onto his stomach, little crimson marks embedded into his flesh. 

Seungcheol’s once again struck by how _good_ the color red looks on him. 

In his darkest moments, blood dripping from the blade of the knife, he wonders how Jeonghan would look _bathed_ in it. If that would finally satisfy the bloodlust, the need to _punish_ burning brightly in Seungcheol’s mind. 

Other times, Seungcheol chokes him during sex - until Jeonghan’s clawing at his wrists, drawing blood, turning weak and pale beneath him. He never means to, never plans to, but it just happens that way. He’ll get lost in the moment, in the way Jeonghan pushes him and tests him, the way it’s so easy to _break_ him. 

Afterwards, helping Jeonghan ice the bruises because he doesn’t want anyone else to see them, he always feels like shit. 

“It’s okay,” Jeonghan murmurs, every time, eyes soft and unreadable as they find his, too much love in his voice. “You can’t help it.” 

He’s certain he could, if he tried hard enough. But it’s easier like this. 

It’s easier hating Jeonghan than loving him. 

As the months grow colder, Seungcheol feels like he’s losing his mind. 

Nothing makes sense anymore. 

At night he bandages the cuts on he’s left on Jeonghan’s skin with rough hands; he tends to the bruises, the bite marks, the hickeys, the tears, and holds him so tight as he falls asleep. Tight enough that he can feel the way Jeonghan’s bones shift when he moves. Tight enough that he can all but hear the blood thrumming through his body, taunting him, enticing him. 

When he wakes up in the morning, seeing Jeonghan makes him sick. 

Sometimes… sometimes he looks at the knife on the nightstand, the same one they use during sex, and he wonders what it’d be like to make Jeonghan _really_ bleed. To just push the blade as deep as it can go; slice through Jeonghan’s skin, his muscles, his insides until he’s leaking blood. Until he’s slick with it. 

Seungcheol always throws those thoughts up with stomach acids. They leave him shaking, cold and pale, on the bathroom floor until he hears Jeonghan waking up. 

Then he brushes his teeth and fucks Jeonghan like he loves him. 

He’s angrier more often than not now, with everyone he comes into contact with. It gets to the point where no one talks to him unless it’s work-related; he’s snapped at Wonwoo so many times he just… shuts down now. Can’t even look Seungcheol in the eye. Which is just fine with him, since all Wonwoo can talk about is how much he hates Jeonghan. 

_“You’re like a different person with him, hyung."_

_“I don’t like what he’s doing to you.”_

_“You’re not sleeping, not eating - it’s like he’s… he’s stealing your life from you.”_

_“He’s a terrible person, hyung. Telling you to leave Kiyoshi-hyung? The way he’s keeping you from us, alone in that fucking apartment like he owns you?”_

The last time he tried that shit, Seungcheol yelled at him. Told him that he didn’t know what he was talking about. That he needed to shut the fuck up because he and Jeonghan were in love. 

_“That’s not love,”_ Wonwoo had said, tears slowly filling his eyes. _“I don’t know what the hell happened to your mind, hyung - I don’t know what he’s done to you to make you think this is love but… it’s not.”_

Seungcheol told Jeonghan. And Jeonghan kissed him slowly, fingers stroking the soft shadows beneath his cheekbones. _“He’s just saying that because he wants you for himself,”_ he’d whispered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. _“So of course he’d say whatever to drive us apart.”_

So now? Now Seungcheol and Wonwoo don’t talk. 

Seungcheol doesn’t sleep either. 

Kiyoshi brings it up one night, the first time Seungcheol really sees him in weeks. They’re cooking a meal that Seungcheol knows he won’t be able to eat and halfway through, Kiyoshi slams his knife onto the counter. 

Seungcheol winces. 

He jumps at everything now. 

“I know you’re cheating on me,” Kiyoshi whispers. 

The sound carries like a scream in their kitchen. 

Seungcheol feels as if he might shatter. 

He opens his mouth and tries to speak, tries to defend himself and _lie_ but he can’t find the words. 

But Kiyoshi doesn’t seem angry. No, he’s just… sad. Watching Seungcheol with tears in his eyes, shoulders sagging. He looks as if all the light in him has been taken, stolen. “I know it’s with - with that Jeonghan kid, too,” he says. “I know it’s been going on for months. I know about the apartment, about all the others.” He takes a step forward but what’s the point? There’s an ocean of distance between them now, one that they will drown in if they try to cross it. “Were you ever gonna tell me, Seungcheol? I know we haven’t been in - in love for a while but…” 

He said it. He said the words they’ve been refusing to acknowledge for years now. That whatever love they held for each other in youth corroded with marriage. That they never should’ve gotten this far, their fathers’ wishes be damned. 

“No,” he whispers. “I never wanted you to know because…” 

“Because of my father,” he murmurs, because he’s not stupid. 

Seungcheol breathes in; it rattles around in his lungs like it doesn’t belong there. “You… how did you find out? How…?” 

“That doesn’t matter,” and he’s probably right; what matters now is what he plans to do with this information. “I know you killed Park for him, Seungcheol. And I know about Yang. Two deals, two contacts you _needed,_ thrown out the window for a whore?” 

The word makes him recoil, like it always does; to hear it spoken by someone he used to love, someone he never thought could talk like that… But the desire to defend Jeonghan, to stand by him in front of people who don’t know him like he does - it’s like a fire dying out, sustained only by embers. Weak. Feeble. “He’s not… I…” 

Kiyoshi shakes his head. “What would my father say, Seungcheol, if he knew? What do you think he would do?” 

“Don’t,” he whispers. “You ca - you can’t. Ki - “ 

“Why not? You’ve been keeping secrets from me for years, Seungcheol. So why shouldn’t I tell him? Why should I be on your side anymore?” 

Seungcheol wracks his brain for something, anything, but he comes up short. Kiyoshi is right; nothing is standing in the way of him telling his father. But maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe Daichi would be lenient - 

No, what a fucking delusion _that_ is. 

But Seungcheol would be lying if he said that the thought of death wasn’t… a somewhat pleasant one. It’d free him from this confusion, from all these emotions he doesn’t know how to feel. 

“Do what you will,” he says, looking at the floor, at the space between them. “I don’t - I don’t care.” 

For a few breathless moments, Kiyoshi doesn’t speak. Seungcheol can’t even look at him, not when everything he’s saying is right. And then, finally, he talks again. His voice is raw, thick with emotion. It breaks. “You deserve him, Seungcheol. After everything you have done, you deserve someone like him.” 

Seungcheol just stares at the kitchen floor in front of him, Kiyoshi’s shoes leaving his line of sight with quiet steps. They continue to the entryway. His keys jingle. The door opens, and then it closes. 

He’s alone now and he wants to curl in on himself. Wants to cry himself hoarse. 

_“You deserve him.”_

Is that what this feeling is? 

He makes the mistake of telling Jeonghan. 

They fight that night, tears in Seungcheol’s eyes, tears he won’t shed. They fight about Kiyoshi. They fight about Wonwoo. They fight about everything and nothing until Seungcheol’s throat hurts and he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Until he wants to collapse and never get back up again. 

Jeonghan comes to him then, with gentle touches that he can’t stand; they sear his skin and he cries. 

He hates the look in Jeonghan’s eyes; it is calculating and cold, so far removed from the Jeonghan he met all those months ago in Perdition. He doesn’t laugh anymore, doesn’t smile, doesn’t flirt. He lets Seungcheol fuck him and hurt him but it’s not enough. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he whispers, looking at him with those eyes. 

Seungcheol shivers. 

“I’m gonna - I’ll take care of it, baby,” Jeonghan continues, lips brushing his neck and Seungcheol wants to break. He wants to quit Jeonghan and his love, poisoning him from the start. From the very first glance. But he _can’t._ “I promise, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Seungcheol shakes his head, wetting Jeonghan’s shirt with his tears. “There’s - there’s nothing to take care of. It’s - it’s over, it’s done - ” 

“Shh.” He kisses his way up Seungcheol’s neck, to his ear; his stomach churns. “Baby, shh. God, you always worry so much, Cheollie. It’s okay.” 

He should’ve known - should’ve known - should’ve _fucking_ known - 

But he was too goddamn blind. And then it was too late. 

Jeonghan doesn’t go to work with him the next day, opting to sleep in instead. A few hours later, Seungcheol gets a text from Kiyoshi, telling him to come home, that they have to talk. 

Seungcheol doesn’t want to, but he does anyway; his limbs feel so heavy. 

The moment he opens the door he smells it: blood.

In his apartment. In the Apujeong apartment. 

_No._

He smells it in the air; sharp, strong, metallic. It invades his senses, clouds his thoughts, knots his stomach - it settles in his lungs and his bones and his brain until it's hard to breathe. Like a panic. Like a warning. 

Seungcheol should be used to it by now. He sees it almost every single day, has drawn it slowly from the bodies of men who've betrayed him; has ripped it from enemies in a callous gunshot. But that sort of blood is controlled, warranted; done for the sake of his men and their lives. For his reputation. For this "career" he calls a life. 

This is not warranted. 

This is passion, splattered on the walls, staining his carpet a dark crimson. 

This is poison, what he sees when he fucks Jeonghan. When he touches him. When he kisses him. 

This is obsession, standing before him in a white satin robe smeared with red - a white satin robe that doesn’t _belong_ to him - droplets falling from his delicate hands. Hands Seungcheol fell in love with, hands he kissed and held and allowed on his body in a secret only they shared. Hands he never thought could hurt or betray or kill. Oh how wrong he was. 

What a goddamn _fool_ he’s been. And now… now... 

Jeonghan approaches him with a morbidly proud look in his eyes, stepping over his victim rather carelessly, and if he comes any closer he'll track blood on the hardwood. But Seungcheol doesn't stop him; like instinct he opens up and Jeonghan wraps thin arms around him. 

There is blood everywhere - the floor, the walls, the hands on Seungcheol's face, his heart, his lungs - and they kiss. They kiss and it takes his breath away; Jeonghan steals it from him like it was his all along. Like Seungcheol was his all along. His to have, to possess, his and only his. 

Seungcheol always has been, since the moment their gazes met in that club. 

In sin, in wickedness, in selfishness… for better or for worse, he is Jeonghan’s. 

They kiss until there's blood on their lips, on their tongues, and Jeonghan's trembling in his arms and Seungcheol wants to cry. For the innocent life lost to Jeonghan's hands, for his own heart, twisted and warped - how can he love like this? How can he love someone like this? 

But he doesn't cry, like he did yesterday. 

He punishes. 

He crushes Jeonghan as close as he can, sliding his hands under the robe he bought for someone else. He scratches skin as soft as silk, feels it give and break beneath the bluntness of his nails. Feels blood, hot and wet, bloom against his fingertips. Hears Jeonghan's broken moans, breathless and aching, in his ear. 

It is as damning as it is enticing. 

Always, always, always. 

He bruises Jeonghan's throat with bites and kisses like he's done before, overwhelmed and hating himself and hating Jeonghan and hating the unseen phantom that haunts them both. Hating the love that's made them like this. 

"I should kill you for what you've done," he manages around the lump in his throat, the madness in his heart. He breathes it like a broken promise against Jeonghan's pulse, beating strong beneath purpled skin. Taunting him. 

It makes him sick. 

"But you won't," and Jeonghan's weaving those bloody fingers through his hair, he's pressing against him and he feels so good, so perfect in his arms - and he's right. 

Seungcheol doesn't have the strength to do what must be done, what should be done. 

He never has. 

He looks up from the crook of Jeonghan's neck into the lifeless eyes staring at him from the floor. Eyes he knows as well as the taste of Jeonghan's skin. Eyes he's seen broken more than happy these last several months. These last several _years._ Because of him. And for his own sake, for Jeonghan's, he cannot process what lays before him. It will destroy him. Admitting to himself that this is what Jeonghan has done - that he allowed this to happen, that he let love fester and mold into delusion, into something dark and parasitic; that such a betrayal started with him letting Jeonghan into his bed… 

It was an act of passion all those months ago - an act of passion that seemed innocent in its very sin - and it has caught up to him now, in a way he could never imagine. 

A soft moan, the press of bloodied lips against his jaw, forces his attention back to the stranger in his arms; the most beautiful - and cruel - creature he has ever known. 

Jeonghan has love in his eyes, splattered on his robe, on his skin, bitten into his bottom lip. 

And Seungcheol has blood on his hands. 

“How could you?” he manages, holding his husband’s empty gaze like he still breathed, like it was enough to change the unchangeable. “H-How…?” 

Jeonghan sighs softly against his skin. “You’re mine, Seungcheol. And I am yours. Kiyoshi, his father - they’re standing in the way of that. Just like Park was. And Yang.” 

Park… Yang… _Yang._ “You… you killed him?” 

His voice sounds so frail to his own ears, mired in disbelief. Mourning. 

The tips of Kiyoshi’s white hair are stained crimson. 

He wants to fucking _vomit._

“Of course I did,” Jeonghan whispers. “He insulted me and you just - you let him. Baby, I’m not a prostitute, hmm? I had to do something. So I poisoned him. It was easy to just write it off as an overdose, or whatever. But I did it. And I watched him die.” 

It seems like so long ago, like a lifetime has passed. Seungcheol barely remembers what Yang looked like - can’t think of anything else except _red._

“They’ll - they’ll fucking kill you,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. Burying his face in Jeonghan’s neck. He just - he can’t _look_ anymore. “Daichi… he’ll - he’ll - “ 

“Shh,” Jeonghan murmurs, like he did last night, fingers methodical, insistent as they comb through his hair. “Baby, it’s gonna be okay. You’ll protect me, right? You swore you would, that night. Remember?” 

_“I won’t let anyone hurt you and I’ll always protect you.”_

He breathes in but it breaks on a sob that wracks his whole body. 

Jeonghan just holds him tighter. “It’s just us now, Seungcheol. Just us, okay? We don’t have to be scared.” 

He can’t do it. Can’t fucking do it, not with Jeonghan talking like this - so goddamn calm, like he didn’t just… didn’t just murder Kiyoshi. And for what? So he could prove to Seungcheol that they belong together? That Seungcheol’s his, and all that that entails? 

As if he doesn’t fucking know? 

Shattered, he sobs into Jeonghan’s shoulder. He holds him tight, like he could just squeeze the air from his lungs. Like it would be so easy. 

Like he could actually do it. 

He calls Jihoon and says nothing, just that he needs a body taken care of. 

He calls Wonwoo and says that Kiyoshi is dead. 

Admitting it is like a bullet to the heart; it breaks him. 

But Jeonghan is there to pick up the pieces with cold hands and frigid kisses. He just… doesn’t put them back together the right way, and the parts of him grind and rub together, so out of place it makes him nauseous. 

They leave before Jihoon can get there; facing him, watching them clean the blood from the floor and zip Kiyoshi’s body up in a bag… watching them treat him like all the other mistakes… he can’t handle it. 

Jeonghan drives them to the apartment. 

“We should leave the country, right?” he asks and the words settle in Seungcheol’s brain like water in the ear. Muted, annoying. “You have a safehouse in L.A.?” 

“Yeah,” Seungcheol whispers. He looks out the window but nothing registers; even with the heater on, he can’t get the stench of blood out of his system. “We’ll go there, baby. We’ll be safe.” 

It’s a lie, but he can’t tell if Jeonghan believes him or not. It doesn’t matter. No doubt Jihoon has told Wonwoo by now; and Wonwoo will tell Daichi, Seungcheol’s sure of it. Since he most likely told Kiyoshi everything, too. 

They’ll go to the apartment. They’ll wait. 

They’ll get what they deserve. 

Jeonghan steps into the shower when they arrive home, like he’d spent a few hours at the gym. Seungcheol joins him, limbs moving of their own accord because his consciousness is too traumatized to do anything. Under the hot water, more on the painful side of scorching, Jeonghan’s touch is soft. He rinses the blood from his own body, from Seungcheol’s, and he watches the water turn clear with tears in his eyes. 

They kiss as they dry off; Jeonghan’s lips are cold, like he’s already dead, and Seungcheol allows him to lead him to bed. 

He’s still numb, watching Jeonghan move above him like a film. He kisses his body in ways that used to make Seungcheol come alive with lust and passion; now it only adds to the churning in his stomach, the pounding in his head. Jeonghan preps himself with shaking fingers, eyes desperate and distant as he sinks down onto Seungcheol’s cock. 

This is all they have, all that they are. 

Infidelity bred impurity; impurity bred sin; and sin bred affliction. 

Seungcheol holds him tight when he comes, burying his face in Jeonghan’s neck as if it would block out the rest of the world. 

Jeonghan cries out when he comes, spilling between their bodies, eyes wide open. 

They clean up and Jeonghan kisses him softly, murmuring that he’s going to take a nap. 

Seungcheol wants to punish him, wants to hurt him for being so callous, so cold - 

“Sleep well, baby,” he whispers against his icy mouth. “I’ll pack, hmm?” 

Once Jeonghan passes out, Seungcheol joins him on the bed. His eyes, his mind fixate on one thing: the knife resting on the bedside table. The knife he’s used to mark up Jeonghan’s body, the knife he’s fantasized killing him with. 

He wonders how Daichi will do it. Will he bleed Jeonghan the way he bled Kiyoshi, taking some kind of sick pleasure in it? Or will he make it quick, a shot to the head? Something that removes him from this life as quickly as possible? 

The thought of anyone putting their hands on him like that, deserved or not, makes Seungcheol sick. In his heart, he knows the answer. He knows Daichi, knows the kind of man he is - and he will bleed Jeonghan dry. He will do it slowly, letting him feel the burn of every cut, every slice. He will watch, hardly satisfied, as his blood drips to the floor, as the life leaves his eyes, as the breath leaves his lungs. 

He’ll make Seungcheol watch, too. 

He can’t let it happen. 

Call it love, call it hate - Seungcheol doesn’t know what it is, but he can’t stand thinking about it. Can’t stand Daichi hurting Jeonghan like that. 

He reaches for the knife; it feels so familiar in his grasp. Glinting as the blade catches the light. 

A lump forms in his throat. 

He leans over Jeonghan, waking him up with a slow, deep kiss. Their tongues coil together; Jeonghan makes a noise in the back of his throat. 

“Are you done packing, baby?” he whispers sleepily against Seungcheol’s mouth. 

Jeonghan is everything he loves and hates most in this world. He is his biggest regret, his biggest mistake, his greatest love and worst enemy. He is his lover, his abuser, his partner, his traitor. He is his blood, his life, his voice, his breath. 

He is nothing and everything. 

Seungcheol cannot live without him, yet the thought of enduring one more moment with him is _hell._

“Yeah,” he murmurs around the lump in his throat, the emotions strangling him. “I’m done, angel.” 

He brings the knife up and plunges it into Jeonghan’s chest, aiming for his sick, twisted heart. 

Jeonghan gasps brokenly, eyes widening - 

Blood seeps from the wound, bright crimson - 

Seungcheol pushes as deep as the blade can reach, tears blurring his vision, dropping onto Jeonghan’s skin - 

It is not the way he imagined. 

He doesn’t want to watch but he forces himself to. The way Jeonghan groans in pain through gritted teeth, the way he struggles against Seungcheol’s hold on him – he tries to pry the knife from his chest, fingers rigid, nails digging into Seungcheol’s hand - 

“Baby,” he tries, blood coming up alongside the words, spilling onto his perfect lips. 

Seungcheol runs slow fingers through his hair, hating the way Jeonghan looks at him. _Scared._ He’s so young, so frightened – betrayed. “It’s okay,” Seungcheol whispers and he wipes at the tears that pool along the insides of Jeonghan’s eyes. “It’s okay, angel. I’m here.” 

His grip on Seungcheol’s hand slackens. 

“I-I – I love y-you,” he manages, voice hoarse and rattling, eyes wide and bright as they find his. 

“I know,” Seungcheol whispers. He cups Jeonghan’s porcelain cheek, fingers stained red, breath slowing just as Jeonghan’s does. Like he’s dying too. “I know you do. But I had to do it, I had... it was me or them, angel. It was – it was me or...” 

He trails off as the light leaves Jeonghan’s eyes. 

His hands fall to his sides, limp. 

He goes still. Silent. 

Killed by the one who claimed to love him. 

Seungcheol sits back against his legs and for a moment there’s nothing. He doesn’t think, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t move – he watches Jeonghan, pale, bloodied, motionless. 

Eyes wide open with none of the love, the passion they used to have. 

And whatever’s left of his heart breaks. 

A sob tears its way up his throat. It echoes in the quietness of the room. 

Jeonghan is _dead._

Breathing heavily, he reaches for the knife embedded in his chest – and takes it out. The sight of it, the blade slick, bright red, makes his stomach turn and he throws it across the room. It clatters somewhere and then everything is quiet again. Except for the pounding in Seungcheol’s head. 

Jeonghan looks at him with empty eyes, eyes that still seem to sear through him, and he can’t _do_ this. He thought this would make it better – he thought this would make it all go away. The chaos in his mind and his heart, the desire to hurt and punish... He thought Jeonghan was the root, twisting and curling around him until he could not see otherwise. 

But it’s himself. 

He breaks, collapsing on the bed next to Jeonghan, and he holds him. He holds him so damn tight, sobbing into his icy, bloody skin, loving him as much as he hates him. Needing him as easily as he got rid of him. Willing him alive as badly as he wanted him dead. 

It’s not _fair,_ but it never has been. 

Daichi finds him like that eventually, five men with him, their gazes unreadable as Seungcheol sobs into the blood dried on Jeonghan’s skin. With hard, unforgiving hands they try to pull them apart – like a child, Seungcheol clings to him. He fights. He cries. 

He loses the battle, a futile, broken “don’t touch him!” leaving his lips. He cannot breathe. He can’t look away. He can’t think, can’t speak - 

One of Daichi’s men checks Jeonghan’s pulse. 

Then Seungcheol’s gaze is interrupted by a tall, broad figure in front of him. Over Daichi’s shoulder he can still see Jeonghan’s face. 

He breathes in. 

“You killed him?” his father in law asks. 

“Yes,” Seungcheol whispers. “I had to.” 

“He killed my son.” 

Another sob wracks his body, of its own accord, and Seungcheol sags against the arms holding him up. He loses sight of Jeonghan’s sweet face. “He - he didn’t know what he was doing, he... he...” 

Even in death, the desire to defend Jeonghan still sings through his blood. 

“You were sleeping with him, weren’t you? Cheating on Kiyoshi?” 

“Yes,” he says again, and his voice cracks. 

“What should I do with you then, Seungcheol? Look at the mess you’ve made. And for what? Some whore?” 

He can’t - he can’t - 

Seungcheol falls to his knees and the men holding him let him go. The emptiness in his soul gnaws at him; he’s aching and broken and he can’t do this anymore. Through the tears blurring his vision he looks up at Daichi. 

Living after this is not an option; every time he closes his eyes he will think of Jeonghan. He will think of Kiyoshi. He will be reminded of his sins; of the blood he’s spilled. 

His heart will beat for someone it doesn’t belong to, a love he did not deserve. A love stolen from him in selfishness. 

He’d rather it stops for a love he _does_ deserve. A love that has taken so much – why not this? 

“Kill me,” he whispers in a hollow voice. “Please.” 

Daichi looks at him with hatred in his weathered eyes; it is a hatred Seungcheol feels for himself, for Jeonghan, for the terrible love they shared. “I won’t kill you, Seungcheol. No, that would be too easy. You don’t deserve it.” 

He steps away then, and once again Seungcheol sees Jeonghan’s body. So still, so perfectly calm. 

Blood drips from the edges of the bedsheets. 

Daichi is right; death would be too kind a fate for someone like him. 

Daichi and his men leave them there alone. 

Satisfied. 

No one comes for Jeonghan because Seungcheol calls no one; how can he? How can he admit what’s happened? That the deaths of his lover, his husband, happened because of _him?_ Because he was too goddamn blind to see what was going on? 

Jeonghan’s body is cold and hard; his blood looks so bright against his pale skin, and even in death he is beautiful. Looking at Seungcheol with lifeless eyes. 

Did he ever love him? 

Was anything they shared true? 

Seungcheol remembers the way he looked that night, in Perdition. Bored. Ethereal. Bathed in red. Seungcheol had thought him an angel, the most wicked angel he ever met. 

The Jeonghan he danced with that night _changed._ Love made him sick. Love made him selfish and mad and distorted. 

_Seungcheol_ made him that way. 

And Jeonghan corrupted him in return. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, to Jeonghan, to Kiyoshi haunting him, to himself. “I’m so sorry. I... I...” 

Jeonghan just looks at him with those empty eyes. 

It’s what he deserves and yet it’s not enough. Seungcheol still _aches._

He reaches towards Jeonghan, fingers stroking over dried, crusted blood. “You... you hurt me, angel. Lied to me. And I let you. Fuck.” 

He's as much to blame as Jeonghan is, and he knows it. 

“I let you love me,” he whispers, looking into eyes that do not see, touching skin that does not feel, crying tears that are not deserved, “and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jeonghan.” 

Breathing slowly, deeply, he shifts towards his bedside table. Opens the drawer with stiff, numb fingers. Pulls out the pistol he keeps there. Just like the knife he used on his angel, it shines in the fading light. Night will come and then morning and someone will find them. Maybe Wonwoo. He’ll walk in and see them together, the way they deserve. 

Seungcheol hopes it’ll make up for what he’s done. 

He’s just… he’s so goddamn tired of breathing. Of hurting. Of hurting _others._

And it’s no less than he deserves. 

With a steady hand, he cocks the pistol. Presses the muzzle against his temple; it’s as cold as Jeonghan is, as cold as he feels. 

He breathes in. 

Reaches for Jeonghan’s rigid, icy hand with his other. 

He breathes out. 

Pulls the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah so that shattered me. i'm sorry.
> 
> thank you thank you for reading <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scoups__ahoy) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/scoups__ahoy) | [ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/serenawrites)!


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